The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. He did not look up, so he did not know that in her other hand she held a glass of wine. Lucy clutched the pencil in defeat. “How ridiculous! Fancy you with all that money! For heaven’s sake, though, do not go about playing the Don Quixote like this. I'm glad of it, I'm sure; for it's all owing to him his poor mother's here. CHAPTER I.
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