“No!” Her thoughts had turned in a new direction. And as she was yet waiting for her tea to come she saw this man again. Tonight Lucy doled out outré physiological theories of boys and their overactive hormones. There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her.
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