’ Lucy was silent for a space, once again wearing that inscrutable expression. He had deliberately saved it for last. She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. ‘Then it must certainly be Eugénie. He seemed to be thinking hard.
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