Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. He tells me that you will not even see him. Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. Those were dreams. So I ran away, blindly, knowing nothing of the world outside. "You will learn anon.
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