’ ‘But you don’t look anything like her,’ burst out Mrs Ibstock. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. He led her unerringly, pushing her down the narrow stairway that had been the servants’ access to the upper floors, and thence through a small door that led into the chapel. Perhaps that is why I lost my ambition. “Sydney is quite right, Miss Pellissier,” he said. His face changed and she saw, with a stab at her heart, the dawning of irritation in his eyes.
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