Lucy blushed from toes to forehead, feeling her pace accelerate. Fritz flailed against his mother wildly, crying generous tears. She grasped at the right one, massaging where his grip had been and Gerald hoped he had not bruised her. ‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words. Her long arms handled the sword with a memorized ease and grace. He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s.
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