She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead. When she came to herself, she found that her brother had quitted the room, leaving her to the care of a female attendant. A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. “What have you been doing since our last talk? Still cutting up rabbits and probing into things? I’ve often thought of that talk of ours—often. This foster child’s name was Mary Lucia Iovelli, and we have photographic documents of a woman who looks exactly like you, dear.
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