At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. ‘As to Gérard, I do not know why he does this. They’re just a joyous softening of the outline—more beautiful than perfection. Neither would she allow herself to feel guilty nor would she allow him to find a way into the house. Tonight Lucy doled out outré physiological theories of boys and their overactive hormones. ’ Melusine turned her head.
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