“And yet I do it without compunction. Twenty-one, twenty-two. 126 Lucy drank them as the first rays of watery sunlight seeped through the mullioned windows, then put their husks in the claw-footed bathtub. They all balk because there aren't any petticoats. But I had to know for sure. I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think. Of course I know nothing of what really did happen in Paris—if even you ever saw him there.
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