’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed Lucilla enthusiastically. It was the end, she told herself, fiercely. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. Another picture slid across her vision.
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