Perhaps I ate something spoiled for breakfast. ” “God, Lucy, you’re always so serious! I was only joking!” She pulled her underwear on and fiddled with the legs of her tight jeans. “A new admirer, Annabel? But what has that to do with your going to England?” “Everything! He is Sir John Ferringhall—very stupid, very respectable, very egotistical. The rainstorm, short-lived, began to subside. There was granite in her face and agate in her eyes.
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