“When did you look up my mother’s records at the Joliet library, Michelle?” Lucy asked, trying not to incriminate herself by sounding confrontational. Clotilde’s stunning green eyes were reflected in the gazes of the tender young children, but their faces had been hollow and sunken, their hair matted, and their clothing in bad need of repair. I met you here as Lady Ferringhall. Mike was showing his territorial instincts, brought out by the fact that he was drunk. . I have tried not to tell you—tried to be simply your friend.
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