“But where are you going? Lucy, you’re safe here. Never. Michelle was in sight, Lucy could hear her voice, high in the crowd, and saw her blond head bobbing among a sea of faces. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. But he promised to give me a couple of guineas if I'd ascertain whether it fitted your locks. .
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