The stage manager reappeared presently, and made a speech. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. “He’d better treat you right this time or I’ll pulverize him, you hear?” Lucy gave in to the hug. A big breakfast is healthier anyway, so they say. But for me it doesn’t matter.
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