These were his mistresses, Poll Maggot and Edgeworth Bess. Her linen gown was soft against the heavy skins. It felt wonderful and golden to bask in the sunlight of their approval, even if their approval was fickle and dangerous. Lucy could see her striding down a Parisian catwalk quite easily. The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master.
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