Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards. F. “Your sex is a terrible fraud. “Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. Lucy was surprised to hear that any party could happen on a week night, but the parents of the house in question were the rich absentee type. CHAPTER IX. .
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