When she finished her last cadence, Carolyn and Thomas begged her to play encores. Master, your humble servant. The houses loomed progressively larger as one strode up the block, growing from ranch to two-story, from squat 1950's modern to stately 1890's palace. It was the first—and the last! At this juncture, the handle of the door was tried, and the voice of Mr. ‘It is London’s loss, ma’am. ‘Pray you, mademoiselle, can you not—’ ‘No use trying to enlist Lucilla’s aid,’ snapped Roding.
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