’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. They’ll face facts as facts, and understand. But I'll tell you about him some other time. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. Lucy felt her eyes misting up, turning traitor.
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