It struck his forehead, splitting it, and brought him to his knees. The weed was all right. ’ ‘Gosse,’ corrected Lucilla. In truth, she had been quite glad to lose the argument about remaining while the bullet was dug out of Jack’s side. It ran in rivulets down her face, penetrating her hood and the thick quilting of her coat. ‘That is imbecile. She held out her arms to him and smiled.
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