You’re mine. Sir John hesitated, and then continued. God, Lucy, what’s it been, how many years?” “I’m so sorry, John. “You’ll get me to allude to it, but you’d have to torture me to admit it. I should think, Anna, that your own sense—er—of propriety would enable you to see this. It had been a very long time. A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming.
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