Her loneliness was consuming, Lucia. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. “I have found out at last what a useless person I am —from a utilitarian point of view. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. "But, we'll soon see. Martha was quite right. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband.
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