‘You said she was beautiful. To-morrow, we'll go to the Fleet and get spliced. Ice had begun to form in the shallows. That’s how it takes me. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. She was vaguely happy over this arrangement which put her in the wing across the middle hall, alone.
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