’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. ‘Valade, if you don’t mind. I think I asked if I could eat lunch with her and Trisha Deere one day and she said there was no room at the table. “You’re self-taught, aren’t you, Lucy?” She looked around the table, all eyes upon her. “I can survive on my own. . Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. "So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter.
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