. He had fallen off when trying to tie down his aluminum paint ladder. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. Her anger died and she eyed him. “He was a friend of your sister’s, was he not?” “I never heard her mention his name,” she answered. A constant attendant at court, he had the mortification to see every one promoted but himself, and thus bewails his ill-luck. You need have no apprehensions about him, Sir Rowland.
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