She wanted to be alone. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. She could not help but swoon a little. “Oh, Lucy. And many of these deaths could be avoided if it were not for superstition. ‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. “I remember,” she said, “that the first night I saw you, you spoke of my sister as your friend. “I may seem unduly— anxious.
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