‘I know,’ said Prudence Sindlesham, sympathy in her tone. Lucia dismissed the rumors, as it was not likely an archbishop would renege on his duties to become her personal doctor. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. There was no one to be seen in the great hall. He saw his father, calling to him from an icy white tunnel, beckoning to him.
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