She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. Lucy saw that perhaps she had been attracted to Martin all along. No one had lived here since old man Remenham had died some eighteen months ago, for the heir, so it was rumoured, was a relative with property of his own. That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible.
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