“Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. The weather's been foul enough for the last fortnight, but I've never turned my back upon it. “I suppose I fell in love with her, Ann Veronica. They put her down, and she leaped at them; she smote a helmet to the ground.
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