‘We needn’t murder Lucia. She was the High Priestess. No breakfast, he’s had no dinner, hardly a mouthful of soup— since yesterday at tea. She awoke at 11:12 am, her foster sister snoring in the bed across the room. Her father, her own father! She remembered now a verse from the Psalms her father had always been quoting; but now she recited it with perfect understanding. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable. ’ ‘Tchah!’ He glared at her. From midnight until morning he was now left alone.
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