‘How could you possibly know it?’ ‘I know it,’ Lucilla told him frostily, ‘because Dorothée told me that Madame Valade went off with Gerald positively purring in her ear—which is a thing he never does—and came back with him looking like the cat after cream. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone.
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