Michelle blinked rapidly and Lucy could hear her heart speeding up. Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. You observe that I am, as usual, fairly cheerful, and moderately amiable. “Looks like old times here, I see. ” Lucy put the back of her hand to Michelle’s forehead. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly.
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