He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. And next morning she attired herself with especial care and neatness, found his address in the Directory at a post-office, and went to him. His new wife’s face was sweet and angelic with hair the color of flax, her belly already visibly large beneath a roe skin pelt. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. Very well, I give up. I must go to-night, or I shall never behold him again. “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. ’ ‘Ah. ” Lucy shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.
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