Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. A little kindness would not bring the world tumbling about her ears. She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. “Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. Jackson had one of the ugliest countenances imaginable, he had a very fine set of teeth. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core.
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