She charged boldly into the space of Miss Miniver’s rhetorical pause. She had hardly noticed the loss of her dagger, so strong had been the waves of relief that attacked her on hearing that Jack had returned from death’s door. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. An influence of this description appeared to be exerted on the present occasion. He had grabbed a tiny remote control and flew the thing around the table, landing it there and turning it off. ‘What has that to say to anything?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ smiled Lucy nervously.
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