The practice has been common for thousands of years. ‘Because I’m a female,’ declared Lucilla unanswerably. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. Who is to say that I am not André Valade, an obscure relation of the late vicomte. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. ” “Oh. " "Nor any one else in his senses," rejoined Wood, with a laugh.
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