"Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. Lucy knocked again. “I imagine,” Sir John said, “that your sister would acquaint him with it. I’m taking no chances. ” She said dryly. He moved slightly, and she went on, with a slight catching of her breath: “It’s a bother and disturbance, but you see—” She had to go through with it now, because she could think of nothing but her preconceived words. Your life is like a funeral March. I am sorry to seem to disobey you, but I am.
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