At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. The Northern Ocean keeps a secret better than the Thames, Sir Rowland. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. All who lived there aspired to be something greater, all who lived there had hope, even the slaves! Oh, Lucia, if you could have seen the Parthenon, or attended the plays at the Athaneum, you would know why I loved it there. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. “No.
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