Her new husband was pleased to watch the astonished look on her face as tray after tray appeared on the grand table, each better than the next. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. ‘Parbleu, I hope that I do not have many more times to come in this way to the house,’ she muttered fretfully.
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