Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. ’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. Day by day she followed the spiritual and physical contest between this man and woman. That is what they call these aristocratic refugees, the English. She doesn't love you; she hasn't the least idea what it means beyond what she has read in novels. ” “It’s scandalous, but I suppose it is. "This she-devil has got hold of the sack. “This is mere nonsense, mere tongue-tied fear!” she said. Clotilde rushed out of the house, carrying her boy and tugging her girl by the ear.
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