Lucy felt the hairs on her neck rise. A failure! She must write herself down a failure! At her age, with her ambitions, with her artistic temperament and creative instincts, she was yet to be denied all coherent means of expression. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. Egad! I shall make a good thing of it. “I fail to see the joke,” Sir John said.
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