“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. “I know nothing whatever of his friends or his home. The air became hot and swollen with June humidity. Her body went into spasm. Morgan the trader did not haggle over the pearls, but gave me at once what he judged a fair price. " "You believe—you know it," replied Jonathan, fixing one of his sternest and most searching glances upon him.
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