“Who the hell are you, Lucy?” “Promise me you will never tell anyone. It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. She grew perhaps a shade paler, and she glanced out into the street, where her four-wheeler cab, laden with luggage, was still waiting. Anna passed serenely out. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time. It would be the wrappered world almost at its best.
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