“Ruin me? For what? Posterity? How could you ruin me, Lucy? What on earth are you talking about?” He got up and began to pace the room. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. Salvation. From all angles he was at a disadvantage—in weight, skill, endurance. Breakfast, too, was an impossible occasion. He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table.
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