She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. "Heaven be praised, I am not the son of a nobleman. "Where is he, then?" demanded the other, hastily. '" "An ingenious device," laughed Gay. Rousing himself, he went to the door. The marriage cannot—shall not be delayed. ” Lucy spoke up, “We used to call that ‘playing the coquette’.
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