” “I’m sorry. “Then what did you do?” Lucy’s eyes leveled with her. Young noblemen ought to be indulged in their frolics. Her pat answer to all inquiries was, “I let my sister Shari make me over,” while she kept from staring at her own reflection in the shiny shoes past her bare knees. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy.
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