It was an odd room, used principally for the reception of guests and visiting dignitaries, packed from end to end with ill-assorted sofas and padded chairs. Lucy was silent. Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. ‘Oh, mon dieu. ‘Hates doing the pretty. Very slowly emerging out of a phase of stupefaction, these personal affairs and her personal problem resumed possession of her mind. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. .
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