She advanced, stabbing at him. Mother had met with him two years before to begin the process of finding a match. He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. Lucy savored the normalcy of the scene. I didn’t ought to have sent for him.
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