“Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. Her scream shook the windows of the sedan. " "Not a farthing more, I assure you," rejoined Ireton, pettishly; "we're all on the square here. Lucy collapsed to the floor in a sob. What he told the vicomte I was not privileged to learn. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way.
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