“MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. ” Lucy spoke up, “We used to call that ‘playing the coquette’. ” “Why did you tell me? I thought—I thought we were going to be friends. “Idiotic, isn’t it?” “Absolutely,” she agreed coldly. \" Lucy shook her hand.
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