“Michelle, it’s me, Lucy. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it. So often as she had herself manipulated a dagger, she could not mistake the shape that pressured across her chest, or the sharp point that dug below her bosom. And, if I'd my own way, I'd drown 'em all like a litter o' puppies. ‘That’s right, you bone idle do-nothings.
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