” She drove off in a little fiacre, nodding and smiling at Sir John, who remained upon the Avenue. Her loneliness was consuming, Lucia. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. And I've made up my mind that a husband ought to believe only half that he hears, and nothing that he sees. What do you know about her, Fred? I am interested. One day she awoke and he was cavorting about underneath the covers.
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