She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. Sheppard. ” “Certainly,” Mrs. “Ruin me? For what? Posterity? How could you ruin me, Lucy? What on earth are you talking about?” He got up and began to pace the room. He kissed her at the door. You speak as one injured—as though I had been the one to take your name—as though you had been the one to make sacrifices.
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