"Rowland," said Lady Trafford, regarding him with a look of indescribable anxiety, "you have assured me that I shall behold my son. Rhea laughed and lunged for the broadsword that Sebastian had carelessly left lying on the ground. “It is hateful—diabolical!” he exclaimed. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. It must have cut him. It wasn’t.
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