“You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. Brown strode to center stage and Lucy quieted the instruments with a gesture. After all, it is not long since that a Catholic nun in this country would have had to remain in hiding. He touched her breast as if he was testing the waters of a cold lake.
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