” Lucy stated. “But, dear, think! He is your father. ” His voice rose and fell amidst the music and the singing of Tristan and King Mark, like a voice heard in a badly connected telephone. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. She would never again be lonely. ‘I—I mean, she were—’ ‘Pretty as a picture?’ suggested Gerald. Her efforts were vain. Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous.
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