The night was now profoundly dark. He had died before they married, and when her brother became a widower she had come to his assistance and taken over much of the care of his youngest daughter. “Muck-headed moral ass! I ought to have done anything. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. “But why now? Don’t boys know that I am involved with John right now?” “That’s not the way it works, Lucy. There's another lad at the gate waiting for him—the same who was here just now, that Sir Rowland was speaking of, who fastened up the jewelcase for her ladyship. Suspicion was in his face.
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