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The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. “I looked for you on the way home from The Big Apple, where were you?” Lucy smiled. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. She had turned round sideways, so as to look down into the fire.

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