“She has lost something,” he declared, “something which brought the men in crowds around the stage at the ‘Ambassador’s. And she had not dressed herself in this habit of a blue so much like the sky just for his sake, no matter that Lucy had said how much this colour suited with her eyes. “Why? Do you think I’m a stoner?” He asked. Always. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it.
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