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She unlaced his pants and slid them down his hips, examining him as he stood before her naked. Lucy looked at her with a small measure of pity. She could smell the savory tinge of his sweat in the air. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. With this person—who was no other than Mr. It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. It did not occur to her that they at least had found a way of earning a living, and had that much economic superiority to herself. Ramage came for her at her lodgings, and she met him graciously and kindly as a queen who knows she must needs give sorrow to a faithful liege. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. She might be able to go on with biology, possibly even work upon the same questions that he dealt with. Like a petulant child he snapped.
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