But we get over it. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. Lucy snatched it up and put it in her pack. She raided their settlements in shifts, staggering her kills from tribe to tribe, undiscriminating of their petty politics. Was there no echo anywhere in Miss Stanley’s pacified brain? Those empty rooms, if they were empty, were the equivalents of astoundingly decorated predecessors. ’ ‘And you believe her?’ asked Lucilla, raising her brows. ’ ‘But this is idiot.
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