Many a black veil hid a high-born dame, and the religious habit was no protection. I was the black sheep, I was hurried out of the way. “Michelle, it’s me, Lucy. ‘Don’t let us quarrel over your Leonardo,’ he said, summoning a faint smile. Once more cheered by daylight, he hastened forward, and entered the chapel. Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. She makes me feel terribly old-fashioned. Thinks they’re the same as soldiers.
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