“Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. ’ ‘Quite right, Gerald,’ approved Lucilla. He died in the war. The Procession to Tyburn. And yet—I love you. She leaned over and kissed his cheek innocently. So I undertook to protect her by keeping love out of her life, by crushing it whenever it appeared, obliterating it. In his condition the boy apparently had been as safe as in the lock-up.
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