Daughters were not like sons. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. “I cut off his right hand pinky with his own rusty bolt cutter. All who lived there aspired to be something greater, all who lived there had hope, even the slaves! Oh, Lucia, if you could have seen the Parthenon, or attended the plays at the Athaneum, you would know why I loved it there. The music throbbed into the warnings that preceded the king’s irruption.
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