Lucy sat paralyzed, as still as Tiger Lily on the death raft. Time was moving so fast, she could no longer count the days since Gosse had come to her with his preposterous suggestion at the Coq d’Or, where they were staying and where he had robbed her and left her and Martha to their fate. Come back—you must come back. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience. " "At least, I will hope so," returned Winifred.
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