Lucy sat in the back seat as the trio sped through intersections in the old sedan. "You're not out yet, you young hound," rejoined Quilt, striving ineffectually to burst open the door. “I think we are growing sensible,” he said. ” He saw her into the train at Waterloo, and stood, a tall, grave figure, with hat upraised, as the carriage moved forward slowly and hid him.
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