Courtlaw is looking after you, Miss Pellissier,” she said. “I believe,” he said, “that you mean me to be Prime Minister. Her stomach growled, and she clutched at it in reaction, haphazardly observing that the gown had been changed to silk. You mustn’t go clawing after a man that doesn’t belong to you—that isn’t even interested in you. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams.
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