‘Poor Hilary. To simplify matters, he carried a coloured paper lantern upon which his license number was painted in Arabic numerals. Lucy was charmed; how peaceful the baby looked. Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. Manning regarded her thoughtfully for a moment and stroked his mustache. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. .
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