’ ‘Dieu du ciel,’ burst from mademoiselle as she jumped up. Were the parents agreeable? Were they of age? Had the license been procured? But here, in a far country, only the velvet manacles of wedlock were necessary. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. Lucy didn’t seem like a teenage girl at all to Sheila and she knew it.
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