. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. Nor is Theresa, or even Thérèse. Mother—dear mother!" he added, clasping her in his arms, "Look at me again. Some foul murder has been committed.
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