Lucy’s cool. Many a black veil hid a high-born dame, and the religious habit was no protection. It was the bitterest moment of her life. ‘Why did you kiss me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ Gerald admitted. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. Only of course I must begin something else at once. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered.
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