She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead. Cathy reached out and touched Lucy’s chin with her two fingers, gently commanding her attention. The air was crisp and dry. "My enemy," replied her son. And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. Concealed among the trees that edged the estate grounds, the watchers paused. Gerald’s gaze bored into hers.
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