Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. “Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. But be very careful not to let him know. In another instant, the collision took place.
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