’ ‘Yes, a pretty theory, Lucy,’ Gerald said evenly, ‘but for one thing. Lucy stood in front of the piano. ‘I should not dream of forcing my attentions on you. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit. “Idiotic, isn’t it?” “Absolutely,” she agreed coldly. The conflict was of short duration; for Shotbolt was no match for his athletic antagonist.
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