“You must do more than think of it,” he urged. I know nothing of that young lady. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. Your mother, for what it’s worth to you—for there’s nothing for you here, by God!—was the woman I chose for Nicholas. Splendidly. It's a long time since we met, eight years and more. S. I made a wrong choice, it seems—but my voice remains.
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