. She had come to despise those who were fertile out of pure jealousy, but could not admit it to herself. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. "The feeling is dead within my breast. ‘You will not guess again?’ ‘No, no, I am quite out of ideas. ‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. ” “No.
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