“No, not that I know of,” Michelle replied, her still eyes not meeting Lucy’s. ‘Quickly! You must get up. I must not let you go again. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. You were only one room removed from the library, see. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine.
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