There it was—to be borrowed. You truly are your mother’s, Lucia. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. There was a new softness in her eyes, a hesitation, a timidity about her manner which was almost pathetic. Ants. My thanks, by the by.
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