” It was her last evening in that wrappered life against which she had rebelled. Wood uttered something like an imprecation. I never let her read stories, or have pets, dolls. ’ ‘Oh, this is becoming nonsensical,’ exclaimed Lucilla. But that explains everything. The next morning came a compact letter from her father. And they could talk, they found; and never once, it seemed, did their meaning and intention hitch.
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