” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. A fever of shame ran through her being. It comes to this—am I to be trusted to take care of myself, or am I not?” “To judge from this proposal of yours, I should say not. It was possible that his first impressions had not been correct. He turned round to keep Anna out by force if possible, but he was too late. We're lost. "Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely.
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