He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. You cannot refuse me this. ‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning heavily on his arm for a moment. He is delightful, is he not?’ ‘That will do, Lucilla.
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