Tell Lucy about the time you were nine years old and blew up the house, John. As much as it killed her, she kept her mouth shut. As to the picture, I'll keep it myself, though, if you do go I shall need no memorial of you. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. Lucy knocked again. ” Lucy spat. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London.
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