She hadn't meant to ask anything for herself. Lucy stole her last chance to observe Martin Chen, looking provocatively into his 257 eyes as the door was shut. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. This light did not remain stationary, but could be seen at one moment glimmering through the rents in the roof, and at another shining through the cracks in the wall, or the broken panes of the casement. And he did not lack courage.
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