“How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. "The Dutchman was right, after all. He wanted her named Mary. Come in! Come in, do. Michelle looked at Lucy's feet, still in the ugly brown loafers she had worn since last year. "Bess wouldn't bear a rival. “You were born for great things,” he said huskily. He had no ideas about daughters. He rested on one elbow.
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