I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales. Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. But he was not a father one could make much of. She is your sister, and God knows I wish her none. Perhaps if I had watched over her more closely, things would have been different. But her tears had been for Leonardo’s expulsion, and the loss of his companionship. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. We’re going in.
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