And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. She hugged Lucy, who had finished eating. “Mr. Thrilling, she began to dance, swirled, glided, and dipped. He glanced up at the coachman. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. “Why don’t you?” “Well, it might mean rather a row. She doesn't love you; she hasn't the least idea what it means beyond what she has read in novels.
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