“No,” she answered. “I—I am sorry—I didn’t explain. But his words were borne away by the driving wind. They were headed by an athleticlooking, swarthy-featured man, who was armed with a cutlass, which he waved over his head to cheer on his companions. Lucia dismissed the rumors, as it was not likely an archbishop would renege on his duties to become her personal doctor. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four.
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