All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. "Before I go," continued Sir Rowland, "I must beg of you to disclose to me all you know relative to the parentage of Thames Darrell. She saw it, and checked without thinking. But here I am to draw upon. “I want to speak to you. ‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair.
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