The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. ‘What has that to say to anything?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ smiled Lucy nervously. She watched as his headlights flooded the driveway and many minutes after his car was gone. But she could tell by the dullness of his eyes that he saw only some inner vision. Well, you shall know. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. Cheveney was another Paris friend, was he?” she asked.
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