“You have dyed your hair and darkened your eyebrows. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. I almost wish we hadn't come. She walked back to the car. Monsieur is going inside perhaps?” But Sir John’s eyes were still riveted upon the poster, and his heart was beating with unaccustomed force. “Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek.
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