CHAPTER XVIII. Yet here you are, and at precisely the right moment, too. You will be—my wife. "Well, my dear, I've a proposal to make in regard to this babby of yours, which may, or may not, be agreeable. ‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding. “Oh, Lucy. ‘Yes, do,’ approved Lucilla. What sort of proof? There are no papers at Remenham House. “Don’t you think I ought to?” she asked, very submissively.
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