Her voice was weak and flat. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. “That’s HIM,” said Ann Veronica, in sound, idiomatic English. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. “John, of course I forgive you if it is what you need from me. John’s father piped up, bored with the conversation, and asked, “Where do you get your blue eyes, Lucy? What nationality are you?” “I’m mostly Italian, but I get my blue eyes from my mother, who was Gypsy.
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