‘I am not in the least in a rage. At this juncture, a cry was raised by a servant from below, that the robbers were flying through the garden. Lucy sighed. The freezing water lapped around her ankles as she ran along its edge, marveling at the thousands of tiny white spiral shells the tide had brought in. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer.
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