“You are a dear,” she exclaimed affectionately. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. 126 Lucy drank them as the first rays of watery sunlight seeped through the mullioned windows, then put their husks in the claw-footed bathtub. Some friends who saw us dining together persist in alluding to her as Miss Annabel Pellissier.
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