A maidservant held the front door open. The night was clear and moonlit, dazzling with even light blue shadows that shone into manicured lawns and pristine gardens. That is very certain. She had not gone by the name Lucy during those years but instead had called herself “Mary Lucia Iovelli”. If you talk of your faults, I shall talk of your splendors. “Lord!” she said. My mother shall never degrade herself by a connection with you.
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