God would have taken mercy on her baby, seeing that she had already had too much pain and that he had taken her beloved mother. Then I assumed a rather portentous manner to prepare him. A sound sleeper, she was not roused by the creaky openings and closings of drawers as Lucy packed a single duffle bag with underwear and soap that was pilfered from a multipack of Zest in the Beck’s downstairs bathroom. Even this man-hunting machine was willing to grant the boy his honeymoon. “But your hair,” he gasped.
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