She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions. Lucy could see the anger in her silhouette, the punishments and the grounding being formulated for the now dead daughter. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. Whenever she came upon the obliterated word and paused, her father would say: "Faith. Ladies with weapon’s on ’em. ” She replied. They shouted to her from the wings to come off. That's the job. “Um, okay.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 01-07-2024 15:22:36
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