“Shit!” John quickly countered, “What are you going to do? She’s a motor-mouth, Lucy, of the worst kind. Suddenly she had become afraid. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. Abruptly he gripped her wrist. The thought had not even occurred to him. He tries hard to conceal it, but he cannot. “It was unpleasant while it lasted, but it is over —and my toasted scones are delicious. Afraid there'll be a love-affair. Mr.
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