’ The core of hurt rose up, tearing at her insides. And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away. Spurlock lay with his head on his arms, asleep. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. She fell asleep instantaneously, fatigued from weeks of exhaustion. “What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia. They cannot imagine the discomforts involved, and they see only mystery in your fight to recover your lost heritage. ’ She drew a heavy breath. You must be misinformed, Mr.
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