It would not have been for her an anomaly to read a love story in which there were no kisses. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. Know that, don’t you?’ ‘Of course I know it,’ Lucy told him, and Melusine read the whisper in her mouth of those precious words, ‘I love you. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. Another glass, Jack.
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