. Wood, in equal trepidation. “I wonder if there is anything wrong with my manners,” she said. "Manuscripts! Why, this chap is a writer, or is trying to be. ’ ‘That’s fortunate,’ murmured Lucilla. "I understand," she said. Sebastian slowed the car after they had traveled seventy miles into the countryside. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had. Mrs.
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