’ For the moment I thought it was a telegram from Gwen. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. It is I who took the burden of your misdeeds upon my shoulders that you might become Lady Ferringhall. Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night. " "And who is its mother?" asked Jonathan, in an eager whisper.
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