Lucy felt her heart splinter in her breast. But to England we will go. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself. All three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. Finally she decided that even for an hotel she must look round, and that meanwhile she would “book” her luggage at Waterloo. He was helpful, but gravely dubious. “Can you spare me forty pounds?” she said.
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