“I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. They had been informally introduced during floor hockey, when Katy had sent a puck flying into Lucy’s face. “A man who does not touch his wife, who ignores his wife, what kind of man is he? I am not sick any more. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for.
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