The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. ‘—without telling her why,’ he finished, ignoring the interjection. That had shut him up for a while. You truly are your mother’s, Lucia.
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