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126 Lucy drank them as the first rays of watery sunlight seeped through the mullioned windows, then put their husks in the claw-footed bathtub. At last she glanced at a little clock in the corner of the room, and sprang to her feet. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. It is not so. “I remember,” she said, “that the first night I saw you, you spoke of my sister as your friend.
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