Lucy sat beside him. It had been very peaceful in the little cave for countless years. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. The day was so darkly overcast that she had to turn on the small white porcelain lamp that sat upon the makeup crowded vanity. ‘Peste,’ she wailed, as Emile dropped to the floor, ducking down. “Quite particularly nice,” said her aunt.
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