At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid. "You frighten the cull out of his senses. Daughters were not like sons. "Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely.
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