Something like a snarl crossed his face, and ignoring the pistol, he moved forward, seizing her shoulders. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. His long struggle with himself, his avoidance of her were quite unnecessary. Though nearly dark, there was still light enough left to enable him to discern surrounding objects. “What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia.
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