“You permitted me then to call you my friend. She frowned, appearing to think for a moment. “And even then—” The conversation hung for a thoughtful moment. \" Lucy fought to resist the compulsion to 45 fold her arms over her chest. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. Even the most sullen and withdrawn were sensitive to the penetrating nastiness of the fog. ‘Thought you were going to break in here,’ he said, in an impatient whisper. “It may be her salvation. I am the richest man in England. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. It depresses one, you know.
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