She donned her gloves. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. Besides—there is Sir John. " "Look at it, then," said Wild, giving him the portfolio. ‘This is a private house,’ Hilary said severely, ‘and you are trespassing.
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