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“I’m rather a persistent person. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. For a long time she surveyed a row of towering holly-hocks, as though they offered an explanation. Lucy simply added her own good night, even though a significant part of her wanted to call Cathy mother, she refrained. They'll be back soon enough—or not at all.
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