Lady Angela shrugged her shoulders. Lucy had snuck in the back door by the kitchen and Sheila was ready for her, standing between the stove 124 and the refrigerator. “Vee,” she said, “come home. As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. They were talking of “Alcide,” as they often did in those days.
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