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Chapter 48 - Forty Eight
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... > The gravel paths of the Promenade were the runways. The carriages were the props. And the members of the ton were the actors, each playing a role in the grand theater of Society.
Rowan Hamilton guided his high-perch phaeton through the wrought-iron gates at Stanhope Corner. He sat high above the crowd, gripping the reins with brown leather gloves. The four bay horses moved in perfect unison, their coats gleaming like polished mahogany in the afternoon sun.
He looked every inch ...
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