A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. "As long as you please, Sir," answered the matron, dropping a curtsey.
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