She moaned, having failed in her mission to find her mother and her God. Darrell attempted to reply. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. Both, however, having safely landed, they cautiously crossed the room, and passed down the first flight of steps in silence. ‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. He broke his arms in two places and several bones in his right hand.
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