Lucy felt her heart splinter in her breast. She looked at the suitcase sadly and stashed it underneath her bed. “Silly!” he remarked after a pause. I burned it. The little pucker in her brows became more perceptible. Servants were passing backwards and forwards with tea and chocolate. ‘But I have been perfectly honest about that. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments.
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