” 227 “Your family?” “She was my first wife, and because she turned me, she was like a mother to me. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes.
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