Apparently she was always doomed to weep when she talked to her father. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. ‘And what the devil do you mean by demanding that I wait on you here? D’you think I haven’t enough to do handling that caper-witted female’s affairs, without dancing attendance on you?’ ‘Don’t be cross,’ begged Lucilla, much to Melusine’s disgust.
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