‘How could you possibly know it?’ ‘I know it,’ Lucilla told him frostily, ‘because Dorothée told me that Madame Valade went off with Gerald positively purring in her ear—which is a thing he never does—and came back with him looking like the cat after cream. Women and men had always flocked to him, covetous of his knowledge, his riches, and if all else failed, his carnal expertise. I was happy to oblige them, I had grown sick of the heat of the south and all the miserable sun.
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