She saw his eyes glaze over. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. I have tried not to tell you—tried to be simply your friend. She then opened Lucy’s meager closet and plucked out a pair of heeled boots usually reserved for weddings and funerals. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. You see, the plain fact of the case is that I think I am too young and ignorant for marriage.
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