"Good-b'ye!" And with a cordial shake of the hand he took his departure. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. She had intended to be quietly dignified, but he was in a smouldering rage from the beginning, and began by assuming, which alone was more than flesh and blood could stand, that the insurrection was over and that she was coming home submissively. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered.
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