Auntie has taken the nails out of my palms, but the scars will always be there. They were filthy after the burial. ‘Yes, do,’ approved Lucilla. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. ‘I’ll handle her better alone.
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