\"Lucy?\" He called her as she turned. The silence grew unbearable, so she asked, \"What is your surname, John?\" \"My surname? You mean my last name?\" \"Yes. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. She never knew what became of her farmer after that. “All right?” he asked. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. They fell into step again. Sorrows and danger and disappointment she had known. “To be my eternal love.
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