As he passed out he saw in the hall a quietly dressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think.
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