There had been fusses and scenes dimly apprehended through half-open doors. “Lucy, are you feeling all right?” He asked concernedly. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense.
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