Save us!" he cried, as his glance accidentally alighted on the drawing, which Winifred had dropped in her agitation. "The Beachcombers. I did not have to dig deep in my imagination to create the status-obsessed suburban environment of Lucy’s modern milieu. You must—you shall be mine. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage.
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