And it’s like the petals falling from a flower. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. Go to her, I say, and take her in your arms, you poor benighted Ironsides! I can't make you see. . ’ ‘Lucilla,’ gasped Hilary, his cheeks reddening with wrath.
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