“Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. “Don’t think so,” Drummond answered. Had it not been lashed to the adjoining wherry, it must have been upset, and have precipitated the opponents into the water. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s.
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