’ Lucilla sat up. In Paris, in July, a raging mob had stormed the Bastille, provoking circumspect aristocrats to uproot themselves and take refuge abroad. And I want you for myself—for my wife. He remembered that, before he attempted to dislodge the stone, he had placed the child in a cavity of the pier, which the granite mass had been intended to fill. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone.
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