“What happened to your parents, Lucy? Is it all right if I ask?” Lucy looked at her with a soft gaze. By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist. I wanted something alive. “I was sick of the make-believe. He recognized the face instantly. Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from her. "Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command.
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