’ ‘Yes, a pretty theory, Lucy,’ Gerald said evenly, ‘but for one thing. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. "Here, wife—hostess—fetch me that bottle from the second shelf in the corner cupboard. Lucy thought of herself as belonging to Sebastian whether she liked it or not. He knew that tragedy was as blind as justice, that it struck the child and the grown-up impartially. No one seeing you together could doubt that she is your granddaughter. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed, pervert?” “Yes sir. “I told you I did not love you.
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