“Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek. You truly are your mother’s, Lucia. Attempt to molest me, and I split. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment.
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