She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. 82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. Lucia dismissed the rumors, as it was not likely an archbishop would renege on his duties to become her personal doctor. Sir John followed her gaze, and also saw them. And you’re as clean as fire.
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