If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. ” “For what?” Lucy asked. Her eye wandered quickly over that riotous and disorderly assemblage, until it settled upon one group more riotous and disorderly than the rest, of which her son formed the principal figure. Very soon she would be able to forget it.
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