To-morrow at twelve I'll be with you, Mr. “Cut her throat!” Sebastian snapped. Boys keep you busy, don’t they?” Lucy said in a light tone. All the rest is humbug and delicacy. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. He had thought it might have that effect. She was very greatly exercised by the two systems of values—the two series of explanations that her comparative anatomy on the one hand and her sense of beauty on the other, set going in her thoughts. The world into which she was so boldly venturing was going to be wonderful, but never so wonderful as the world within these paper covers. She had no inkling of that insupportable wrong. For she knew that men married to get something.
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