That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion. A. “Who the hell are you, Lucy?” “Promise me you will never tell anyone.
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