Who's the lucky boy, Lucy?\" Lucy looked at her slippered feet. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. The odds were astounding and yet he had it bad. ‘I was just looking the place over when I heard you calling out. ’ ‘What offer?’ she asked, suspicion rife in her voice. He became really companionable, discussed the new story he had in mind, and asked some questions about colour. That’s— that’s my private life.
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