F. ’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. Her aunt leaped unhappily to the thought of penitence. “I shall be waiting for you there, and in the meantime, if you will help yourself—pray don’t look like that. She stepped into his arms. He was still flashily dressed, with much obvious jewellery and the shiniest of patent boots, but his general bearing and appearance had altered for the worse.
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