’ The core of hurt rose up, tearing at her insides. She had made a bed for herself out of wood and furs. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. ’ ‘What, even less delightful than Gerald?’ enquired Lucilla, her eyes dancing. "There!" she cried, laughing, "that'll teach you to lay hands upon me again. Observe it—a blue-serge coat. Someday I'll take you down there and have them rig up the coconut dance for you.
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