His eyes were bright with the hunt. He’s a catch, Lucy. It must be the dawn creeping in. Gerald watched its approach with vague interest, which quickened when he saw that it was drawing up outside the very house out of which he had just stepped. 82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen. .
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