“Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. “Tell him to drive—anywhere,” she exclaimed. Yet she took with her an uneasy consciousness that in this affair might lie the germs of future trouble. It doesn't look bad, does it?" "Mercy, no! That wasn't the thought. Tell me I haven’t heard. In Larry’s old Cadillac sedan, she sat in the backseat as Larry drove and Cathy sat beside him.
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