The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. “Very,” and cracked a walnut appreciatively. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. D. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. “You, too,” he said abruptly.
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This video was uploaded to jandlonmark.org on 30-06-2024 07:38:21
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