” Lucy shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Ferringhall, were you or were you not dining last night at a certain restaurant in the Boulevard des Italiennes with—la petite Pellissier?” Now indeed Sir John was moved. There was a Greyhound bus that she was overdue to ride. Her eyes were insane with rage, crusted with yellow and green, only beginning to heal from her long sojourn underground. He was almost frightening in silhouette, his hair uncontrollable under the best of circumstances, but that changed when you saw his face. Jack was a comical scoundrel, and made a little too free with his grace's best burgundy, as well as his grace's favourite housekeeper. She was wan and white.
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