” She rang the bell, and he waited by her side until she was admitted to the tall, gloomy lodging-house. “Please forgive me, Lucy. 1. I desire, Sir, you'll recollect yourself. ” “Sorry. "But it won't do. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, after a long interval, “if they are absurd. I shall charge you five per cent. You know—I worship you. The doctor's lessons, perhaps delivered with too much serious emphasis, had destroyed that buoyant confidence in her ability to take care of herself. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head.
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