“You’re self-taught, aren’t you, Lucy?” She looked around the table, all eyes upon her. She went about the familiar home with a clearer and clearer sense of inevitable conclusions. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. She had never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life unhampered by others. Beethoven; he’s the best of them. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. “I can say no more. We are expecting a visit from Sir John Ferringhall at any moment.
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