CHAPTER VII. If there was such a thing as love at first sight, these two must epitomise it. ’ Your name alone would fill any music hall in London. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. Lucy aimed the firearm at Rhea’s chest. The music throbbed into the warnings that preceded the king’s irruption. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year.
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