All the king's horses and all the king's men could not undo what was done; nor kill the strange exquisite flower that had grown up in his own lonely heart. Her family had hosted a feast in his honor for which they had taken weeks to prepare: with braised capons and lobster sausages and all sorts of delicious spiced stews her mother had made from secret recipes. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue. . Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted.
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