“Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. “I will not rob you of your coffee, most dutiful of sisters!” she exclaimed. Will you let your servant call me a hansom,” she continued, opening the door before he could reach her side. He drew an awed breath. They are our food, Lucia, nothing more. Anything that drew attention to her must be avoided.
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