Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. Sheppard, so that if the blow had been stricken she must have received it. “Ruin me? For what? Posterity? How could you ruin me, Lucy? What on earth are you talking about?” He got up and began to pace the room. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night.
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