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As you admitted to me—one has to square one’s self with the world. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. There was an eerie sense of brooding menace about an uninhabited establishment. She pointed suddenly at the portrait. . Had romance to be banished from life?. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. One has to be so careful. You are the woman I love, Anna. ’ Lucilla frowned.
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