207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. An enormous poster almost covered one side of the wall—the poster. ” Lucy replied. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. Abruptly would come the end. I’m going up to London with the Widgetts to that ball.
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