She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. The man had favoured him with a brief nod, but the girl had gone so far as to offer a tiny smile, and a look under her lashes with which not even Gerald, for all his scant interest in female society, could fail to be familiar. She nuzzled his chest and he breathed deeply of the scent of her Finesse conditioner. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable.
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