Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. "Why do you ask?" rejoined the other haughtily. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. It was a refusal of expediency, he said, and not an absolute refusal. Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning.
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