207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. A little inn flying a Swiss flag nestles under a great rock, and there they put aside their knapsacks and lunched and rested in the mid-day shadow of the gorge and the scent of resin. ‘Now then, my lad, you’re under arrest you are. \" It was Michelle's kind way of implying that Lucy's loose black Tshirt and baggy dungarees were unflattering.
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