She could not stir hand or foot. This is a tale of two young fools. ‘You are an avid reader, I take it. He might call her wife, but she refused to give him his wedding night. We two just love each other—the real, identical other—all the time. This time you cannot. My birth certificate was destroyed when the county building it was housed in burned down. Also Lucy, who had been so much her friend. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. She wasn’t sure of herself when she said it. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. She was no longer a confederate in that. And to wish not is useless, because you have told me from when I was a little girl.
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