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Her whole conduct and tone had been modest and ladylike. They unloaded Michelle’s sleeping parents who had been propped up in the back seat, necks craned against each other. “I wonder which of us is right,” she said. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. ‘But for how long?’ Lady Bicknacre asked apprehensively. ” She had recognized the doorman as Sicilian immediately. He even hugged her a few times, something he had never done.
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