Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies. " "Poor soul!" ejaculated her son. She could feel her face turning beet red. Then he went back to his rooms and lit a cigar. Mr. ’ ‘Sit down, Hilary,’ ordered Lucilla, and to Gerald’s amusement, her betrothed did so, perching on the desk close by and staring fixedly at the major.
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