“It is Michelle, John. ‘Sleeping like a baby, he is. She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies. They slow danced to a Bon Jovi ballad. “Sir John of course disapproves of me,” she remarked slowly. It was warm, shielding, comforting, and what was more, full of understanding. To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance.
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