"But I tell you frankly, and Mr. “So very clear and cold,” she said. I would not have him know—now—for the world. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. She realized in a moment what had happened. “You’re self-taught, aren’t you, Lucy?” She looked around the table, all eyes upon her. I do not wish to return to Paris.
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