Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. It was not possible. ” Her reverie broke, and she found herself still in front of the looking glass, a barrette hanging loosely from her hair. ‘You’re either mad, or in love. She became more assertive, more defiant.
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