He smiled grandly; she could feel the radiance of his approval from across the wedding table. She painted on the Root Beer Lip Smackers lip gloss that Shari had bought her last Christmas and rouged her cheeks as she had long ago as she once had for Sebastian. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them.
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