Pity.
Bertha Marley can't hear.
Taking advantage of the opportunity to get close to Isabella Lindsey, she quietly plotted, her hand sneaking under Isabella's hanging arm, fingertips pressing hard, viciously pinching her arm, just like a childhood fight, using all her strength, sharp nails embedding deeply into Isabella's fair skin.
In an instant, leaving a long bloody mark.
Releasing her hatred towards Isabella...
"Bertha."
Vermes Marley knew what his daughter was doing, glanced at her with a stern father's gaze to let her hands off, and then took her aside.
At once.
Those time-worn, turquoise-blue eyes fixed unblinkingly on the sleeping girl on the bed. Her figure slender and tall, exquisitely shaped, vaguely half a head taller than her mother. Her face combined all the advantages of Arthur Lindsey and Ella Lacey, of course, neither of them had flaws, perfectly exquisite, like an immortal masterpiece jointly created by two great artists.
