He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. His father spoke for him. "You needn't gag me," he added, "I'll not cry out. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. She was nude and horribly maimed. ‘You give me an excellent excuse to have in the Madeira,’ said his hostess, reaching for a silver hand bell and setting it pealing.
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