“Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. “He has a stubbly yellow moustache, weak eyes, and great horrid hands. "Take off these chains, Rowland," said Lady Trafford, "instantly, I command you. “I forbid it!” she said firmly. ‘What am I looking for?’ ‘A miniature.
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