She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. Lucy was surprised to hear that any party could happen on a week night, but the parents of the house in question were the rich absentee type. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. Stanley came home at a quarter to six—an earlier train by fifteen minutes than he affected—his sister met him in the hall with a hushed expression. ” Lucy reassured. He was a little embarrassed.
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