Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. ‘Don’t be silly. ’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. “There’s morbid beauty,” said Ann Veronica. She owed the nun a great deal, including her command of English, for no one else thought to ensure she could speak her mother tongue.
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