’ ‘Get on, Hilary, do,’ begged Lucilla. Wood. There was a round table covered, not with the usual “tapestry” cover, but with a plain green cloth that went passably with the wall-paper. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. “Please forgive me, Lucy. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me.
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