And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. Look out, it’s coming. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. A cold shiver ran through her frame, and her gentle spirit passed away for ever. Lucy spoke once they had turned the corner.
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