“But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves. But we were both pledged to secrecy, and I couldn’t reveal my part for fear that I would lose my place. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. He kissed her neck, moving down to her breasts, trying to consume her with passion. Empty, silly, coarse brutes. He sent a speculative glance at the immobile yellow face. But one changes the style of one's clothes yearly. Lucy looked at her with a small measure of pity. Ramage—about the forty pounds. She should be lifted out of her narrow little life, and it should be all owing to him. Aren't we funny? And just as I was beginning to lose faith in human beings, to have someone like this come along! It is almost as if she were acting a rôle, and she isn't. With such qualifications as she possessed, two chief channels of employment lay open, and neither attracted her, neither seemed really to offer a conclusive escape from that subjection to mankind against which, in the person of her father, she was rebelling.
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