’ Lucilla burst into laughter and clapped her hands. “Sydney is quite right, Miss Pellissier,” he said. I don’t care. She took up the poker and stirred the fire vigorously. Armed, however, with the implement he had so fortunately obtained, he did not despair of success. “Who are you?” She asked innocently. No one. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Odd, but he had never thought of the beach until this girl (who looked as if she had stepped out of the family album) referred to it with a familiarity which was as astonishing as it was profoundly sad.
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