You truly are your mother’s, Lucia. “You are not boring me,” she said, “but I would rather talk of something else. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. Russell burned like a beacon, but Capes illuminated by darting flashes and threw light, even if it was but momentary light, into a hundred corners that Russell left steadfastly in the shade.
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