Her senses were prickled when she felt a new pair of eyes upon her. When the disillusion comes, when the fairy story ends, if she is blessed with children, she doesn't mind. And put ‘em in little books for remembrance. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. Making up a similar story to that which he had told the old woman, he said he wanted to purchase a hammer and a file. “He will probably make a statement to-night. ” Lucy said, watching people mechanically pump quarters into the till.
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