Lucy blushed from toes to forehead, feeling her pace accelerate. Without realizing what she has done, she's made a dreadful mess of it. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. "I rather fancy, as you Britishers say, that you know the nature of my visit?" "I'm an American. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. Coldly she spoke, in a distinctly accented voice.
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