‘What is this fate?’ ‘Un mariage of no distinction. If she could not marry him, she would not marry any one. But I will not believe you. But he afterwards acted upon the suggestion. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. At least the sun would not be as bright, which was a welcome reprieve from the mercilessly bright early summer days which had invigorated every man, woman, and child in the suburbs but were wearing Lucy down into acute fatigue, along with her hunger. The next morning came a compact letter from her father.
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