The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. He's rewriting Poe and De Maupassant; and that stuff was good only when Poe and De Maupassant wrote it. We felt like thieves. You seemed to me to be slipping and slipping, and your face was white. ‘Go then. . ” Lucy chuckled at the sacrilegious comment, though it was a very old one.
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