It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. He pulled rein at the sight of her, saluted, and regarded her with his rather too protuberant eyes. ‘What?’ ‘Nothing,’ snapped Roding, with an odd look at his bride to be that Gerald could not interpret. Her thoughts were busy with the possibilities of this break in her journey. It seemed to emanate from the back of the house.
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