“Ruin me? For what? Posterity? How could you ruin me, Lucy? What on earth are you talking about?” He got up and began to pace the room. He would advise you how to get rid of the fellow. "Suppose we go and have tea? I'd like to take you to a teahouse I know, but we'll go to the Victoria instead. So if they decided to watch television, there would be problems getting him out of the house, she would have to strangle him with piano wire, there was possibly of a struggle. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. Lucy snatched it up and put it in her pack. Because she states her case in a tangle, drags it through swamps of nonsense, it doesn’t alter the fact that she is right. Rank ingratitude, I call it. What is the supreme idea in the heart and mind of youth? To win fame and fortune: and particularly to enjoy them.
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