Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. Indeed, it seemed inevitable that she must clear it up with his assistance, or not at all. Lucy grabbed its handle, her broken bones mending inside her causing her to wince in pain. The simile started a laugh in his throat. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park.
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