’ Abruptly, the niggling doubt that had been plaguing Lord Charvill came sweeping to the surface. 132 “I thought you wanted me—you told me so when we kissed in the park!” He cried. The sharp point of the sword at the girl’s throat bit sideways. “Mr. Lots of us are like that. “All’s well that ends well,” he said; “and the less one says about things the better. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. She had not gone by the name Lucy during those years but instead had called herself “Mary Lucia Iovelli”. They did not want her. She came along with the fluttering assurance of some tall ship.
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