” Lucy said. She listened with growing apprehension to the tale that Gerald told, omitting any mention of pistols and daggers, and at the end delivered herself of various expletives highly unsuited to a lady of her advanced years. I hated the stuff. . Her formerly brown hair was dyed a white shade of blonde. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. Standing over the pierced Rhea, Lucy bayed, a long cry that was half-scream and half-howl. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. “She”, you say. “Glad to see you in London.
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