Lucy’s bright tones pursued her. The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way. Then, when the tension was getting unendurable, and she was on the verge of speaking to some casual passer-by and demanding help, her follower vanished. "Not a moment is to be lost," cried Jack: "follow me. A doubt as to your dinner to-morrow would make you miserable to-night.
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