“I’m sorry! Mary! Are you hurt?” “No. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. “You shall drive home with me in a hansom, if you will. To his relief, she nodded. I slaved over it, contacted half a dozen genealogy groups and came up with zilch. “Get you a cold one?” “No thanks. To think of him as loving her would make all that different. Mr.
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