That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. “What’s wrong with having witchcraft books? Is she afraid that the Princeton Hill villagers will burn you at stake?” Lucy asked sarcastically. Grasping one of chairs about the little table, he drew it forward and sat astride it, in a fashion as insolent as it was unexpected. The distinction lay chiefly in the right to pat their heads. ‘Yes, I thought you’d say that. “I have made no arrangements as yet— none at all.
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