It seemed that within an instant the Pestilence struck, and she begged me on her deathbed to shelter you and her grandson for the rest of your lives, as she could see that even though I was a ‘demon fiend’ and ‘minor devil’ that I loved you. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. Lucy stood relieved that she had not messed up the solo. “My husband!” she laughed a little derisively.
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