Soon they came to treat Lucy almost as mother, pulling hard at her brown curls and laughing delightedly as they sprang back into their spiral shape. “But you do not know,” she whispered, “whether I am a married woman or not. It is only the women matter. By the side of her plate was a small key. The chair had extension arms over which a man might comfortably dangle his legs. “When we go indoors I will show you the offers I have refused,” she answered.
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