"Got the rooms mixed. ’ ‘Aye, more’s the pity. “Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud. But the figure was evidently too intent on peering within the ballroom to pay any attention to what might be occurring outside. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. We'll have him yet. I have only just left Wych Street.
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