The Storm. Lucy saw it happen as if in slow motion. She had never been able to discover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror. E. She thought of the marvellous beauty of skin, and all the delightfulness of living texture. The colouring was green and white, with softly shaded electric lights, an alcove bedstead, which was a miracle of daintiness, white furniture, and a long low dressing-table littered all over with a multitude of daintily fashioned toilet appliances. I suppose because it IS the chief thing in life.
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