Very well, then. He had barely settled at his desk in his library, when he was disturbed by two morning callers. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. “No, those are my brother’s dog tags.
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