Lucy went downstairs to prepare the hot cocoa that would be the last hot drink of the season, ruefully spiking the liquid with Nytol, just one tablet dissolved in a little warm water. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. From all angles he was at a disadvantage—in weight, skill, endurance. Be so good as to let me pass, sir,” she added, looking her obstructor steadily in the face. ‘Open the door, fool!’ Then he had Melusine by the shoulders and was hustling her into the hackney.
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