She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. “Lucy, my brother is home and I borrowed the cash from him. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. Diane spoke first. “Look at me. During the wet monsoon the west beach was always littered.
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