“It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked. \"Sure, I'd love to borrow some clothes for the night. ” She kissed him passionately, and ran lightly upstairs. “I am going to ask for your forgiveness. So, why did you slam the door in John Diedermayer's face?\" Lucy did not look at her, but cocked her head skyward. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it.
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