“And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. Hell's curses! that after all my precautions I should be thus entrapped. ” Her answer was terse. ’ ‘And you believe her?’ asked Lucilla, raising her brows. Bête, she told herself fiercely. It’s an emerald. Jolly nose! there are fools who say drink hurts the sight; Such dullards know nothing about it. Thames, you needn't tidy yourself, as you've hurt your arm. She became more assertive, more defiant.
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