She then opened Lucy’s meager closet and plucked out a pair of heeled boots usually reserved for weddings and funerals. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. I wonder. We’re closer than you think. ‘You cannot read my mind at all, monsieur. ” He relapsed into a stony silence.
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