Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. Lucy cringed, her eyes widening. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. One swift glance about the room, and a sensation of grim foreboding swept through him. It’s all outside the world of your experience. Saint Giles's Round-house.
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