She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. Perhaps that was the reason why she enjoyed preparing suppers at the Becks. It remains a bizarre idea to me that Lucy Alberti could ever become so detailed or so real, but I’m certainly glad to have made her acquaintance. "Vot are you?" "Practising patience," growled Abraham. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off. He would condemn her to the vengeance of the mob all for refusing to marry him.
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