And I have seen work by his pupils myself that struck me as being—well, next door to shameful. Or I should say—’ ‘Eugenia,’ cut in Gerald grimly. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. She decided to go out into the London afternoon again and get something to eat in an Aerated Bread shop or some such place, and perhaps find a cheap room for herself. “What happened to your parents, Lucy? Is it all right if I ask?” Lucy looked at her with a soft gaze. The man himself was not a pleasant object.
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