Well, after all, he seemed to be turning the subject. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. ‘When one is penniless, one does not expect a life of ease. Who's the lucky boy, Lucy?\" Lucy looked at her slippered feet. Even as a child she observed how men were haunted 18 by the presence of her mother. From what she could tell, he truly had convinced himself that he was in love with her, but she knew that his ardor would fade eventually inasmuch as she knew John’s would. It was my destiny to have her. All that confidence, born of irony, disappeared; and fear laid hold of him. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances.
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