Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. You don’t understand, Lucy, they just aren’t like that. A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. ‘I don’t want a hue and cry after me, I thank you.
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