And for my part, if I were inclined to exercise my benevolence at all, it should be in favour of some more deserving object than that whining, hypocritical Magdalene. She was a much lighter and more frivolous person, very charming and companionable—but with a difference—a great difference. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. Earles watched her anxiously. She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her. “You’re great, Lucy! I had no idea you were so great!” John exclaimed.
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