Wood; "here's a pretty to-do about nothing. Mike sat down, his body too large for the petite blue couch. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. Rhea spun round and sank her teeth into Lucy’s arm. " There was another pause. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. " "The White Hollyhock would fit her better.
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