Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas. He rested his brow on his hand and conveyed magnificent tragedy by his pose. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. Lucy clutched the pencil in defeat. How I could have been such a fool I’ll never know. “Annabel,” she said, “I have never asked you for your confidence.
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