“Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. "Jack!" Her son averted his gaze. "The key," replied the widow. In the artificial light her skin had the tint and lustre of a yellow pearl. “You must answer me, Annabel,” she continued. After a while he spoke again.
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