Supper was over. The future? He dared not speculate upon that. ’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. ’ His head came thrusting out at Melusine like a belligerent tortoise from its shell. The future was not so black. Lucy could see the anger in her silhouette, the punishments and the grounding being formulated for the now dead daughter. But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman.
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