’ ‘But what of justice?’ asked Lucilla, evidently dazed. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. “I cannot conceive,” he said, “how any other occupation could ever have occurred to you. It’s only as if I’d begun to know you the day before yesterday or there-abouts. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you.
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