Part 4 MY DEAR VEE, he wrote. How did you get your luggage out of the house? Wasn’t it—wasn’t it rather in some respects—rather a lark? It’s one of my regrets for my lost youth. “To tell you the truth though, I am quite a stranger in London, and it occurred to me that Mr. Hurt beyond what he could imagine by the selfishness and pride of her forbears, whose fateful disputes had robbed her of the life she should have led, the plucky little devil had taken matters into her own hands. She could not risk going in the door, lest she run into Larry or Cathy drinking a nocturnal glass of milk or Mike raiding the refrigerator for snacks. Then she went below. " "Entreat a fiddlestick!" retorted Mrs.
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