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Dangerous Summer

Stephen hesitated at the door of the conservatory. “Oh, and Beatrice …” I turned to look at him. “Yes, dear?” “Better luck next time?” His eyes were black with pain. I flushed with humiliation. “Yes, Stephen, of course …” Shame, guilt and anxiety gripped my heart. Blood seeped between my thighs. “Better luck next time.”

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My first blog

I am absolutely delighted to be able to write my first ever blog, mostly to thank so many readers who have written to me over the past two years to tell me how much they enjoyed LARKSWOOD. I had buried myself away in a rented cottage in Long Hanborough in order to do battle with

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