“When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. ” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. “I’m so glad my Mom’s letting me go out tonight. “Annabel!” He looked at her thoughtfully. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back.
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