Lucy stared out to the busy streets beyond. There was a huge desk of heavily carved ebony at one end, and at the centre, a couple of straight-backed chairs stood before a great fireplace at the outer wall, flanked by two bookshelves with casement windows above. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. “Well anyhow—I don’t see the force of your objection, you know. "The end is the most beautiful in English literature. ” He stated, trying to maintain his calm.
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