THE VISCOUNT OF MAISONS LAFFITTE
Chastity stood in the kitchen, completely white, gripping the telephone in her hand. There was a low, nervous laugh on the other end of the line. “You remember who I am, right?” he prompted when she didn’t answer.
“Why are you calling me after all this time?” she asked slowly. There was silence. He hoped, perhaps, that in that old way she had of filling the pauses in conversation, she would be the one to break the silence. She didn’t.
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