The evenings were dulcet and soft. ” Ennison dropped the evening paper which he had been pretending to read. The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. And then she would find work. Ah, these English! They travelled all over, up and down the world, not to acquire information but rather to leave the impress of their superiority as a race. One night she apparently fell asleep. ‘But what way, Emile?’ ‘Your family, mademoiselle, the family of your father. Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror.
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