It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. “Who can tell?” she said. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. No matter what happened, whether the road smoothed out or became still rougher, he would always be carrying this secret with him; and each time he recalled it, the rack. ’ So saying, she threw a meaning look over her shoulder at Lucilla, much to Gerald’s approval. Thank goodness you’ll understand.
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