‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. It is what I have wanted, what I have meant all along. But ere the words could find utterance, her maternal tenderness overcame her indignation; and, sinking upon her knees, she extended her arms over her child. Whenever I feel particularly gregarious, I take the launch and run over to Copeley's and play poker for a couple of days. He won’t have menservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is only fit for a museum—where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye.
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