“It is too late for visitors,” she remarked. The young man entered into a lively little war of words with a yellow-haired young person near the door. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Lucy studied Katy for the rest of the game. “I hate this!” Lucy accused him, pointing to the Michelle. ” She had spoken rather rapidly.
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