’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. Darkness closed in on them as the officers stepped inside the musty interior. She was, she guessed, close to the library. Businesswomen in pointy-toed shoes swooned coyly in his direction, tipping their noses over their glossy magazines to admire 273 him. " "Who are you!" demanded the fugitive, sternly.
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