A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage. Submission to the inevitable carried her through the circumstances of her appearance before the magistrate. She always left the table when they began to smoke. 277 “I was beginning to think that I would never see you again, Lucy. Gerald’s judgement was borne out a moment later. I can’t love you. You’re of age— you’re of age.
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