She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. How long have you been playing?” Lucy breathed an internal sigh of relief. He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. ‘The major thinks she’s worth it,’ put in Prudence quietly. You’re a piss-poor liar, John.
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