47 was no more than a sort of railway compartment on the way to that. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. “I’m not going to college, John. Try your luck with Jarvis Remenham—if you will. It would make the young wife unhappy. ” Lucy would always press her face into her mother’s skirts when she heard the ending, no matter how many times she heard it. I’m six hundred and forty-eight years old, John! I should have never seduced a young boy, let alone expected him to keep my secrets for me.
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