” Lucy blinked from the winter sunlight and reached behind herself to yank at her hood. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. “I’ve got nothing in the world to pack with except a toy size portmanteau. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head.
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