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“I’m not,” she said, and she was rather pleased with how positively sunny she sounded

He had a terrible reputation, she ren herself with a man who’d had relations with so many women? And unlike most unmarried women, Hyacinth actually knehat “relations” entailed Not firsthand, of course, but she’d ed to wrench the most basic of details from her older married sisters And while Daphne, Eloise, and Francesca assured her it was all very enjoyable with the right sort of husband, it stood to reason that the right sort of husband was one who remained faithful to one’s wife Mr St Clair, in contrast, had had relations with scores of women

Surely such behavior couldn’t be healthy

And even if “scores” was a bit of an exaggeration, and the true number was much more modest, how could she compete? She knew for a fact that his last mistress had been none other than Maria Bartolomeo, the Italian soprano as famed for her beauty as she was for her voice Not even her own mother could claim that Hyacinth was anywhere near as beautiful as that

How horrible thatthat one would suffer by comparison

“I think it’s beginning” She heard Mr St Clair sigh

Foot candles to diht of Mr St Clair’s profile A candelabru light his hair appeared alht idly, the only man in the room to do so

She liked that She didn’t knohy, but she liked it

“How bad would it be,” she heard him whisper, “if I ran for the door?”

“Right now?” Hyacinth whispered back, trying to ignore the tingling feeling she got when he leaned in close “Very bad”

He sat back with a sad sigh, then focused on the stage, giving every appearance of the polite, and only very slightly bored, gentleman

But it was only one minute later when Hyacinth heard it Soft, and for her ears only:

“Baaa

“Baaaaaaaaa”

Ninety ht about the cows