‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless. “What’s wrong with having witchcraft books? Is she afraid that the Princeton Hill villagers will burn you at stake?” Lucy asked sarcastically. He caught the elderly dame’s eye, throwing her a desperate message. Her soft brown eyes, inherited from Larry, warmed an already pretty face. She would never, never go back. He would know her address to-morrow. “It is not that.
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