God, Lucy, that’s the stuff people wear to Phys. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. For so far she had kept it uncashed. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. She meditated long and carefully upon her letter to her father before she wrote it, and gravely and deliberately again before she despatched it. It was not so uncommon back in the Hebrides for men to take several wives and additional lovers.
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