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... Mr. Grant.
His smile did not falter; unlike Mrs. Grant’s loss of composure, he remained calm and collected, even a touch gentle.
She caught her breath, "I went downstairs, my brother was standing in the middle of the corridor, at the end was Eleanor’s room—I, I..."
"Phoebe." Mr. Grant put his arm around Mrs. Grant’s shoulders. "Speculation breeds suspicion, and if you do it too often, it’s like crying wolf. But you’re still young, and you’re only worried about your broth ...
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