By this action, Lucy already knew what the answer was. Visiting? Dressed for it, certainly. She kept her face downcast. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. To him she had always appeared as a mere pleasure-loving parasite—something quite insignificant. I've seen many a clever cracksman, but never one like him. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. Mr. I miss her a lot.
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