Nevertheless, she was still fighting. Cathy stood in the bedroom hallway in her faded blue bathrobe. "He called me a wanton, Hoddy. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. We’re hedged about with discretions— and all this furniture—and successes! We are successful at last! Successful! But the mountains, dear! We won’t forget the mountains, dear, ever. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience. His eyes never left her face. ‘Let’s see now. He said nothing. “What have you done to yourself?” he muttered.
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