“I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. Hopefully. And, yet, I don't know. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. He was not Meysey Hill, but an Englishman of business, and he had only a small income. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. It was evident the lady’s servant knew his mistress, for he had come equipped with a tray upon which reposed a decanter and two glasses. ” She controlled a sob. ‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue.
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