“Mira?” He was out of the curricle with a swiftness that almost made his leg buckle under him. Running, as best he could, along an unfamiliar country road. Towards his sister, who had thrown herself to the ground, and was running towards him in return. “Justin,” she cried. “Oh, Justin.” They came together in something that was more of a collision than a hug, Gracewood with no notion how he kept his footing. And Mira was half laughing, half crying in his arms. “I knew you would come. I knew you would.”
🥺🥺🥺
