Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. “Curious case,” said Ogilvy, buttering his bread and cutting it up in a way he had. He looked at her, hurt. “Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. F. Even now she was dazed. Then came the javelin-men, walking four abreast, and lastly, a long line of constables, marching in the same order.
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