Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, preoccupied, almost depressed figure. On the envelope was written— Sydney Courtlaw, Esq. I will take you for thirty-five shillings a week. Lucy pinned her hair off her neck and hoped it would make her to look decidedly older. ‘No need to shake in your boots,’ Gerald said soothingly. But perhaps you don't know; there was nothing in the pockets. She took to listening through closed doors.
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