She then opened Lucy’s meager closet and plucked out a pair of heeled boots usually reserved for weddings and funerals. ‘Pen and paper, do you have them?’ ‘Danged if I have,’ came the truculent response. I do not wish for you to see me feed. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire. “Really,” she said. “I regret that you should ever have proposed it,” he went on. "Whatever you like, Hoddy," she agreed, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Something with iron resolve the father had kept hidden all these years in the lonely citadel of his heart.
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