“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. The pause lengthened, and he had the satisfaction of seeing despair melt the set mockery of Spurlock's mouth. If I were Mr. Not my affair, of course, but I think we ought to teach them more or restrain them more. We’ll run away together, we’ll elope. org.
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