Lucy cringed, her eyes widening. Breakfast was laid for one, a dish of fruit and a shining coffee equipage. But to choose this of all moments. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. His head bent down, intent on kissing her underneath the showerhead. “On or about the day you receive this letter, Anna, the six months will be up. His father was one of my old customers, and I am happy to find his son treading in his steps. “There, there, now. ” “Oh, Drummond’s dinner!” she repeated.
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