’ ‘But, Hilary—’ ‘Don’t you begin, Lucilla, for I won’t stand for it. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice.
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