‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. It was 1582. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. I have only just left Wych Street. Teenagers buzzed about her newly discovered talent for the violin in the same sentences as they gossiped about her torrid police scandal and a lost mother who remained in the deep shadows of murder mystery. "We must keep still. ’ The lady frowned suspiciously.
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