" "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. "You frighten the cull out of his senses. This foster child’s name was Mary Lucia Iovelli, and we have photographic documents of a woman who looks exactly like you, dear. 32 The curtains and tapestries had appeared over the windows before Marina had died, growing moldy from the dampness and the oils of lavender, clove, and clary sage soaking them.
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