The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. Mrs. The rainstorm, short-lived, began to subside. Beautiful sculptures of sugar and almond paste decorated the long tables, delicate replicas of flowers and miniature animals, even a small Palazzo sculpted from cakes graced the table. Michelle’s eyes widened. She hugged Lucy, who had finished eating. Some indeed carried themselves, dressed themselves even, rather as foreign visitors from the land of “Looking Backward” and “News from Nowhere” than as the indigenous Londoners they were. I'm likely to get up any time in the night to work. I want to be myself.
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