She tipped his mouth towards her own and kissed him. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. “No, Lucy, because Satan does not exist. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair. Too easily roused emotions and too little passion. ‘And now, monsieur le major—’ ‘I will see you to the door,’ Gerald said, looking with interest at the building that his observant groom had told him housed a small collection of nuns.
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