Lucia watched in fascination as Isobella nodded at her, only three years older than she, nursing her son with a contented smile upon her face. She had started wearing the dresses he bought for her, the white and blue shift he said, “brings out the color in your eyes”. But he was at last persuaded that I mean you no harm, and that I might—just possibly, since I am both a gentleman and a major of militia—be able to be of more assistance to you than he himself. Finally she fell into reflection.
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