Luckily, they were not easily discomposed. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. He took his seat at the table, but leaned forward to address her. She remembered Taber's hat. Lucy had just began to invoke a solace where John was concerned, doing her best to shelve him as not so special after all. Brendon.
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