I’m not Gerald, remember. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. It is what I have wanted, what I have meant all along. “Oh, yes,” the stranger remarked good-humouredly. Brendon made a quick movement forward. 126 Lucy drank them as the first rays of watery sunlight seeped through the mullioned windows, then put their husks in the claw-footed bathtub. Maybe later.
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