Diane did not hear the footsteps on her brick patio or the audible click of the back door lock being compromised. ‘You will like to marry me, yes?’ she pursued. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door.
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