"The long and the short o' the matter's this then," returned Sharples with dignity, "the Markis begs your acceptance o' ten guineas to drink his health. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. It ought never to have begun. ‘You’re either mad, or in love. There's something human about you now. ’ For a moment he looked daunted. . It never is.
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