“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. “I am happy. . It’s my other side of the moon. Spurling; "however I consent. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. Still, they bob up occasionally. ’ ‘So that you may interest yourself in my affairs even more?’ ‘Then I will go with you,’ he offered. Eh? Banging against the old rollers—that'll put some life into us both. It was locked.
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