Lucy felt herself go very red in the cheeks and lowered her hand rather slowly. She then dried her eyes, and laying her child gently upon the floor, knelt down beside him. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. “Please forgive me, Lucy. She asked the inevitable question, the one she knew Michelle was waiting to field like a quarterback anticipating the pass.
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