The boy was coming around. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. . His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. I had that coming. She set her fingers in the hair and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke.
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