‘I beg your pardon?’ said Gerald. When I carried you up here like a bride, that is the way I wanted us to be, Mary Lucia. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint.
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