"I have not trusted you. Leonardo he was my—’ ‘Don’t say it,’ Gerald cut in hoarsely. Ah Cum was not a sailor, but he knew his water-front. “Just forget it, Lucy! Keep your secrets to yourself!” He stomped out, slamming the heavily paneled oak door. The air, perfumed with the delicious fragrance of the new-mown grass, was vocal with the melodies of the birds; the thick foliage of the trees was glistening in the sunshine; all nature seemed happy and rejoicing; but, above all, the serene Sabbath stillness reigning around communicated a calm to her wounded spirit. Gerald’s breath caught. "What has put it into your head that your son yet lives?" he asked. "But this is good enough to travel in, isn't it?" "To be sure it is. For an instant, Gerald wished the rest of the world away that he might go to her and administer appropriate comfort. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. Yet he’s been here for six years, and he’s as much a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard.
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