‘Precisely,’ agreed Gerald. Lucy vomited onto the floor at the sight of her mother dying, the black spots expanding across her corpse. Wood trembled. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. The theme was a masquerade. ‘This is altogether insupportable!’ She dug a hand into the recesses of the petticoat of her riding habit and a moment later Gerald found himself once again confronting the barrel of her overlarge and tarnished pistol.
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