’ He glanced at the portrait behind her. Lucy could see her striding down a Parisian catwalk quite easily. “La belle ‘Alcide,’ wasn’t it? Annabel Pellissier was her real name. ” “DUSTING!” said Miss Miniver, in a sepulchral voice. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. Lucy stepped inside.
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