She stalked down the street huffily, despite her constricting skirts buffeting against the wind. Her husband was having another bad night, and Ginevra felt she'd scream if she had to bear his morose company all evening. She'd summoned the valet to rush her into town.
The streets were quiet - everything was quiet compared to the London life she
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And, incidentally, face to face with a slight and harried-looking man on his way out, who swears reflexively, and then backs up a step. "Sorry," he says, and offers a hand to steady her if necessary.
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