" "Thought so. . “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. Funk! I’ll see it out. " "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. And it’s like the petals falling from a flower. It was not possible for him to have been deceived. 54 \"Yes?\" \"No one says 'Oh my word' anymore. She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m not at all sympathique.
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