" "It's a queer girl. “I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that have been at all successful during the last twenty years. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. She moved forward almost indiscernibly, a millimeter. Sheppard, and regarding her with an insolent and threatening glance. “You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. Grasping one of chairs about the little table, he drew it forward and sat astride it, in a fashion as insolent as it was unexpected. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest.
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