” He stood before her, his hat in his hand, his head bent, his voice lowered to a convenient pitch. “As I have explained many a time, Lucia, the maladies of the blood and flesh do not afflict us. She addresses you as the Flower of the Lotus, as the Resplendent Moonbeam. At times I swear I’ve never met a more jaded fifteen-year-old, and your lie about being sixteen didn’t get by me for one second, believe it. It’s just because all that side of your life hasn’t fairly begun.
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