‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding. He will not help them—and I told Emile so—and thus he sends them to my other grandpére, even that he knows he is dead. A sea voyage under sail will be the making of him. Wood did think of it, and groaned aloud. Her moods were many and always striking. She got up and unlocked the door.
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