“Please forgive me, Lucy. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. Then he stepped briskly to his feet and bent over the wounded man. “Suppose I chuck it,” she remarked, standing with the mauve slip in her hand —“suppose I chuck it, and surrender and go home! Perhaps, after all, Roddy was right! “Father keeps opening the door and shutting it, but a time will come— “I could still go home!” She held Ramage’s check as if to tear it across. Happy Thanksgiving.
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