Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. . It was impossible. She reminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, at others of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kings away from her doors, and had just announced her intention of ending her life in a convent. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. ’ ‘Oh, do they?’ Gerald said, sudden wrath kindling.
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