\" It was a lie: Lucy ate one forced meal a day, supper. “Well,” he said at last slowly, “I’ll pay it. She began to weep in long, aching sobs. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. This is the way the old thief brings in all his heavy plunder, which he stows in out-of-the-way holes in his infernal dwelling. “Dear me! I wonder what I ought to do. ‘And if not her, for she is dead, then me.
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