She pulled his shirt from its tucked belted state and snaked her hands around his waist. ‘I do not see at all. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. “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. A bad one in a rough-and-tumble; all the water-front tricks. She had told Emile.
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