But you must tell her. ’ ‘What sort of “down on your luck”?’ asked Alderley. ’ Lucilla frowned. She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window. She was as fair as the lily of the lotus. The dress came to her only too manifestly unwashed from its former wearer; even the under-linen they gave her seemed unclean. In one of the big gates was a little door, and she rapped at this.
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