Ramage pursed his rather loose lips and shrugged his shoulders, with his eyes fixed steadily upon her. A single blanket constituted his sole covering at night. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. One glance through the window at that picturesque head had been sufficient. It would be the wrappered world almost at its best. This too shall pass. “Michelle, it’s me, Lucy.
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