Isabella Winterbottom spilled the tea on purpose.
Isabella Winterbottom spilled the tea on purpose. It was not a graceful spill. She knocked the porcelain cup with such deliberate clumsiness that dark Assam soaked into the white damask of Lord Arthur Hastings morning coat in a spreading brown map of calculated rudeness. The company at the Winterbottom drawing-room gathering gasped in unison. Arthur did not move. He looked down at the stain on...
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