“But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. She became exceptionally considerate and affectionate with her father and aunt, and more and more concerned about the coming catastrophe that she was about to precipitate upon them.
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