It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. ‘Nevertheless, you will marry me,’ he snarled. She was certain he would hear, sleeping in the nearby castle. After a while he spoke again.
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