Maybe later. There was nothing to replace the all important letter from her father. But this might be merely a figurative mode of describing his customary vigilance. ‘Yes, tell us everything at once,’ instructed Lucilla, pushing him towards the sofa she had vacated, and obliging him to sit beside her. Into one of these he waded and rolled and rolled, despite her commands. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon.
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