The Night-Cellar XVIII. It remains a bizarre idea to me that Lucy Alberti could ever become so detailed or so real, but I’m certainly glad to have made her acquaintance. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. —'It's all up with us,' says he; 'they've taken away our charter.
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