Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. “What is going on between you two?” Lucy asked. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. “Maybe we could swing a scholarship to Boston College for you, you know, with your violin and all. Here was one of those Americans who would make him breathless before sundown.
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