John was acutely focused upon her now, just as she had wanted him to be. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen. "I understand," she said. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. 1. Lucy went hunting on a Thursday night.
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