We’re closer than you think. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. The ceiling had, in many places, given way; the laths had been removed; and, where any plaster remained, it was either mapped and blistered with damps, or festooned with dusty cobwebs. ‘She may well try to go back. ‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding.
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