A fresh cool breeze blew in their faces. I have nothing, nothing that can possibly be passion for you. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. Rank ingratitude, I call it. My uterus and my ovaries are gone. Dreams of adorable infants danced through her head as she cradled blankets in her arms. I don't know; I really don't know," she found herself repeating. ’ Chapter Five ‘Now then, young Jack,’ Gerald said, turning to the lad, who was sitting in the place lately vacated by his self-appointed mistress, but in a state of far less relaxation. ’ ‘I’ve a good mind to leave the pair of you to it and take myself off,’ threatened his junior, marching across the room and snatching up a decanter. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own.
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