Master Mary and Tracy seemed at each other, and the latter replied sincerely, “We will do our best.”
This sentence was no unique from a demise sentence for Adele.
The southern Duke’s physique trembled as if he had been punched. His electricity and spirit disappeared. He was like a useless piece of rotten wood that had taken root and sprouted in this small nook tower.
Without realizing it, I walked to Adele’s bed.
She appeared to have lost all experience of the outside world and did now not realize any person used to be standing beside her. She stared at the small skylight on the ceiling with her cloud-like white eyes.
She was mumbling something, and I bent down to listen.
“The moon.”
“Darkness.”
“The moon.”
“Darkness.”
She mumbled them over and over again. There was no logic in i
