Happy Birthday, then. We’ve deserted the posts in which we found ourselves, cut our duties, exposed ourselves to risks that may destroy any sort of social usefulness in us. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. “I’ve been through all that,” she went on, after a pause. “Thank you. ’ Then she whisked from the room, hearing Lucilla utter a delighted squeal as she closed the door behind her.
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