He looked at her, hurt. Gashes on his arms were already beginning to heal and disappear. If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask. Gerald grinned. Epithalamy might do. Lucy's ears were singing. Why should WE hoard? We aren’t going out presently, like Japanese lanterns in a gale. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain.
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