“I promise, Lucy. "Thanks to you," said the doctor. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. "Well, like or not, I'm greatly pleased with it, and must beg it from you as a memorial——" "Of what?" she interrupted, startled by his change of manner. He never seemed to take full advantage while they were in his mammoth automobile. Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened.
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