When they were going home she asked her mother why she and Gwen and Alice had cried. He turned. “What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia. “But I—I went to Nigel Ennison for help. She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions. The wine was sweetened with cinnamon and cloves and rare edible flowers, which her father had instructed her not to drink excessively of. “She must,” said Mr.
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