“Your father is dead too, I believe,” he continued, “and your mother. She lost it in the Mint. It remains a bizarre idea to me that Lucy Alberti could ever become so detailed or so real, but I’m certainly glad to have made her acquaintance. Rage flooded her at his intent, but she controlled it. She went to her room and changed the loose morning gown in which she had lunched for a dark walking dress. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms.
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