I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. ‘She wants you. I wasn’t. “Why didn’t you come back? Lucy, I needed you to come back, just once. ” Lucy said, watching people mechanically pump quarters into the till. She went to her room and changed the loose morning gown in which she had lunched for a dark walking dress. It felt too good. What duty does a girl owe to any one before her father? Obedience to him, that is surely the first law. It would be too mortifying.
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