‘Beg your pardon, ma’am, but she’s enough to try the patience of a saint. 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. It was easy to discover that he was a knave, but equally easy to perceive that he was a pleasant fellow; a combination of qualities by no means of rare occurrence. We were to live in some wretched London suburb. “Ye Gods!” she said at last.
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