If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. “I was very foolish to have been deceived even for a moment. Perhaps it was loneliness. To-night we leave for Marseilles. But I've stacks of books and a grand piano-player. ” “You and your father?” Lucy asked. I could not become an Oracle.
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