The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. “I shall not speak,” he said, “now or at any other time. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore. “So Brendon and I,” he said, “have been troubled with the same fears.
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