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‘Don’t even think of it,’ warned Gerald, in the voice generally reserved for his men. She was about to rush to his side, when she saw his clenched hands rise and fall upon the sand repeatedly. Lucy did her best to avoid talking about it, but the subject was beguiling, as it almost always brought news about him from the grapevine within which Michelle was intravenously entwined. “And yet,” he said, “you bid me talk cheerfully, or not at all. That’s my opinion, if you ask me.
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