Who's the lucky boy, Lucy?\" Lucy looked at her slippered feet. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. Hot coffee and cakes were sent in to them in the morning by some intelligent sympathizer, or she would have starved all day.
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