So you, Jacques, must go and wait for me with the horse. I took him out of the hands of death. The challenge gave her courage. “Dear me!” he said. I shall barely be in time for the theatre. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. And she was about as capable of intelligent argument as a runaway steam-roller. If it wasn’t for the fear that after all—but we won’t think of that.
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