“Everybody is taking it up,” said Miss Miniver. But of what use to wear it when there was no one of importance to see and admire? ‘For shame, Melusine,’ protested Lucy, as the butler bowed himself out of the room. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope.
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