Michelle had begged her to do it. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. And if she is not a nun, nor a refugee, and yet is entirely English, I’m hanged if I know what she is. 1. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. I seek chaos, but not out of choice. A fever of shame ran through her being.
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