She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. Lucy slipped upstairs silently. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though.
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