’ ‘Who is that?’ demanded Lucilla eagerly. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. ‘But you are idiot. Here was an instrument which might be of the greatest service to him in accomplishing his design. Tomorrow you will feel like a freed woman. It—it is nothing,’ she said, although with a tremor in her voice.
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