It lay undisturbed in the remotest corner of the recess. You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. This is part of a dream— some evil fancy. Mrs. \"May I come in?\" His bravado was increasing. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. “Just forget it, Lucy! Keep your secrets to yourself!” He stomped out, slamming the heavily paneled oak door. A wedding procession turned the corner. Vaguely she heard the distinctive sound of male voices as she saw Gosse dive towards the fateful pew.
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