Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. I don’t know that I understand altogether. Perhaps that was why Sheila began to observe Lucy, because both of them were poignantly aware of Lucy’s otherness. “See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off. "Ah! Quilt Arnold, my man, is it you? By the powers! I'm glad to see you. I sit back now, letting life slip by and musing upon it; and I find my loneliness sweet.
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