Lucia dismissed the rumors, as it was not likely an archbishop would renege on his duties to become her personal doctor. ’ You mean you hope you do, thought Gerald cynically. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. That's the way it goes. "This must be prevented," he added to himself.
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