“Don’t you get it, Lucy? I’ve always thought he was an idiot. She looked at Lucy guiltily, wondering if she would be betrayed. He was, however, instantly beaten back; and the fury of the mob was so great that it was with difficulty he could effect a retreat. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment.
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