Then perhaps I shall send for him if he has not forgotten. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. “I didn’t understand, Vee. “Are you sick, Michelle? Maybe you should have stayed home. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched.
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