With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. His perseverance was amply rewarded. My son went down after his death. Get nothing out of me. ‘Yes, tell us everything at once,’ instructed Lucilla, pushing him towards the sofa she had vacated, and obliging him to sit beside her. Something, I'm convinced, has happened to the boys.
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