I slaved over it, contacted half a dozen genealogy groups and came up with zilch. Wood, glancing angrily at her husband. By the time she arrived at the Beck’s doorstep, the morning was risen. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. His face was very serious. Just. You don’t know what you ask nor what you say. He kissed her once on the lips with a passion of which, during all their days of married life, he had given no sign. She had to think of something fast, or her reaction would start to make believers out of everyone.
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