Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. ’ Hilary Roding groaned, but obediently followed Gerald as he began to make his way through the trees towards the back to a vantage point from where they might examine the rear of Remenham House. It was easy enough to lie to anyone else. His hair was thick and brown and his skin was fair. “Julian, I don’t know how to put this. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. Almost the last female to bear the name, too,’ muttered the old lady.
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