As they careened into a parking space, Lucy clung to the upholstery so as not to be thrown against the front seats. "Slip on the handcuffs," cried the thief-taker. The room was reeling, or was it that she was going to faint? She recovered herself with a supreme effort. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. A lot of girls have had it in for him but he must be picky or something because he didn’t go to Junior Prom even though I know he got asked. It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him. They're gone into the next room. Lucy could see her striding down a Parisian catwalk quite easily. .
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