She had one idea, she found, very clear in her mind—that she would get a Research Scholarship, and so contrive another year in the laboratory. What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice. “When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. I didn’t allow myself to see things as they were in those days; now I do. “I HAVE—had one or two talks with him, daddy. This had well nigh been the case with the carpenter.
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