“Then what did you do?” Lucy’s eyes leveled with her. “I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that have been at all successful during the last twenty years. “To Paris! But why? What do you hope to discover there?” “I do not know,” he answered, “but I am going to see David Courtlaw. Nigel, do you know that I have been very jealous?” He avoided the invitation of her eyes. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. “But your sister,” he said.
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