The burden of decision had been transferred. Lucy followed. It was a refusal of expediency, he said, and not an absolute refusal. The lady had disappeared. Some part of the stiff vigour of the man seemed to have subsided. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. Why should I?” “At last,” he murmured, “at last I have found you.
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