He pushed her small hand into his jeans. Nor is Theresa, or even Thérèse. Rage flooded her at his intent, but she controlled it. Oaths exploded like shells from a battery in full fire, accompanied by threats of direst vengeance against the individuals who had maltreated them. You truly are your mother’s, Lucia. And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. He then unfolded his choice and held it before her face.
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