She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. Lucia watched in fascination as Isobella nodded at her, only three years older than she, nursing her son with a contented smile upon her face. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you. ‘Don’t rightly know how you make that out, you being a French spy and a prisoner and all.
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