Tonight Lucy doled out outré physiological theories of boys and their overactive hormones. ‘Aye, that she was. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. Sheila’s boys hadn’t been much help when they were around the house, anyway, they were more partial to lolling around on couches and running around with their girls.
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