‘What has that to say to anything?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ smiled Lucy nervously. You say you have twenty-four hundred in your letter of credit. “It—it—must come,” she faltered. In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. “Well, I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. There was a dreadful stifled groan, and she fell heavily upon the landing. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. Mr.
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