I am fairly well hardened in iniquity—your iniquity, Annabel—but I decline to have a husband thrust upon me. “Lucy, do you forgive me?” She looked at him in earnest. He unhooked it from the front clasp. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. Unless—’ Something clicked in his mind and he stared at his friend without seeing him. She should be lifted out of her narrow little life, and it should be all owing to him. Cars rushed by on the street, swerving into the middle of the two lane road to avoid the knee-deep puddles forming around sewer grates. “Either I want to shout,” said Mr. He gave her silence in return. CHAPTER VIII.
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