“You exaggerate.” Hartwell glanced at him. “You love Clarissa, Ann-Marie, Cordelia, Helene, and Eugenie—” “Eugenie? Who the devil is Eugenie?” Hartwell rolled his eyes but humoured him. “Your youngest sister.” “You cannot be serious? Hartwell, my life was nightmare enough when I thought I had only four. Now you tell me I have five?”
