Lucy auditioned on a borrowed violin. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. Never since I was a girl have I seen your father so moved. I tell you—never mind the bill. I would even make over my engagement to you, if Mr. Montague Hill do not interest me in the least. Hitherto, no visiters had been permitted to see him. .
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