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" Mrs. Watson was feeling a little sorry for herself. Widowed, in the autumn of her life, her only relation away much of the year. But oh, such warmth radiated through her at Miss Holmes’s words, as if she’d swallowed a drop of sunfire and now glowed from within. True, certain beloved phases of her life had come to an end, but with Miss Holmes’s arrival, a whole new vista had opened up. And for one who had tended her years with care, autumn need not be a season of scarcity or regret—but one of harvest and celebration. "
― Sherry Thomas , A Conspiracy in Belgravia (Lady Sherlock, #2)