Over one of the pinnacles of the tower a speck of pallid light marked the position of the moon, then newly born and newly risen. Both carried packages of books and magazines. Lucy tried not to notice the starched smell, overpowering and powdery. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. ‘She won’t like it,’ prophesied the captain gloomily. Her pa was only the smithy.
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