You had better go to bed. She shrugged her shoulders. “Please forgive me, Lucy. As concertmaster, it was Lucy’s duty to seat the orchestra as well as tune them. Ten thousand islands, and each one good for a night's rest. She came originally of country stock, and had been virtually in sole charge of Melusine almost from the hour of her birth—a thankless task, as Melusine had heard her bemoan countless times, with the rider that she had carried it out with a conspicuous lack of success. You have a daughter, no? Madame Ibstock, I think. ‘What you can do, Lucy, rather than make enquiries, is introduce me to this comte and comtesse. "Curse me, if I don't think all the world means to cross the Thames this fine night," observed Ben.
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