There you are, the best client’s chair. But tell me how have you escaped from the confinement in which you were placed—come and sit by me—here—upon the bed—give me your hand—and tell me all about it. A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. Lucy tried not to notice the starched smell, overpowering and powdery. ‘To begin with,’ he said, ‘allow me a very tiny intimacy.
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