Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. ’ ‘Gosse,’ corrected Lucilla. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. She could not move. And, after all, a fine clear sky of bright colors is the signal to come out of hiding and rejoice and go on with life. “Quite right,” she said.
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