He suspected a trap. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Lucy felt her eyes misting up, turning traitor. ” “I am glad that you have a reasonable excuse for not having been to see me,” she said good-humouredly. Anna sprang to her feet with a startled cry. Something about the girl had suggested an idea. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames.
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