She fidgeted and looked away. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. He accepted this confession conditionally: that no young man had kissed her. I’m okay. Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. ‘I have an excellent excuse to remain comfortably ensconced in my parlour here, able to indulge in my favourite pastime. Born on a South Sea island, she said.
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