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. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. You don’t want to look like Bozo. The room was intimate and wonderful to her with its shadows now cast over the girlish menagerie of stuffed animals. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. ‘You don’t know the whole, child.
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