“Are you sure you want to do this?” Lucy asked. Which are you—Valade or Charvill? Or, no, let me guess. But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. He came to her at once, and turning, walked by her side. All these wonderful comrades, henceforth and for ever hers. One night she apparently fell asleep.
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