’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. She felt the whack from about six feet away, kitty corner. "Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland. He hesitated. Cathy reached out and touched Lucy’s chin with her two fingers, gently commanding her attention.
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