Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. Lucy had just began to invoke a solace where John was concerned, doing her best to shelve him as not so special after all. ‘Jacques,’ she said, turning to the lad, and holding the habit out, ‘take this for me and leave it in the passage where we have left the lantern. If not, I have plenty to think about,” she answered, leaning back in her chair, and watching the smoke from her own cigarette curl upwards.
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