‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. I put your clothes out an hour ago. Lucy didn’t seem like a teenage girl at all to Sheila and she knew it.
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