’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. After all, life had still its pulsations. A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. "Do you hear me?" cried the lady, with increasing vehemence. "Always plenty to spare. ‘Then let her keep her Frenchified titles to herself.
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