We shall have Mr. What other reason could there be? It’s more complex, but it’s better. Lucy could feel blood welling underneath a bump half swelling and already half-healing on her scalp. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. It wouldn’t be you. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre.
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