A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY. They walked in silence. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. Marina doted over her pregnant daughter, adorned in fine brocades, reassuring her that it was certain to be a either a baby boy or a girl of such great beauty she would eclipse them both. ‘Because I’m a female,’ declared Lucilla unanswerably.
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