“Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. The room seemed a vacuum. Lucy felt the hairs on her neck rise. She had never even brought a friend home in her time at the Becks, let alone been asked on dates. Though within the last two days he had committed several heinous offences, and one of a darker dye than any with which the reader has been made acquainted, his breast was not yet so callous as to be wholly insensible to the stings of conscience. He came into the club next day, and of course we went for him thick.
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