Aware of the footman hovering, and the hackney coachman’s curious eyes looking down from his box, Gerald leaned a little towards her and spoke in a lowered tone. She could not go to him with a preachment against strong drink; she knew from experience that such a plan would be wasted effort. “That’s not working so well for you, is it?” She looked at him sheepishly, bringing a Kleenex out of her pocket to wipe away the excess. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. He wriggled underneath her heaving body, pinned like an insect.
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