Who's the lucky boy, Lucy?\" Lucy looked at her slippered feet. He moved slightly, and she went on, with a slight catching of her breath: “It’s a bother and disturbance, but you see—” She had to go through with it now, because she could think of nothing but her preconceived words. "Don't weep, my love," replied the lady, straining him still more closely to her. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. A bad man, in fact. "Is it a bargain?" "Take half of my estate—take all—my life, if you will—I am weary of it!" cried Trenchard passionately. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you so badly,’ he said, still meeting her eyes, unaware that his hold about her hand had tightened a little.
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