\" added Shari. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. She did not know herself. If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. “Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. .
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