Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. Let us proceed with our tale. She must be beautiful, but beauty is only the beginning. Lucy arranged her hair as Michelle had taught her instead of combing it out. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. “Couldn’t we three go out and have some coffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me.
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