Lucy inhaled deeply. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. “I will MAKE you love me! Until he has faded—faded into a memory. So that the thought of Ann Veronica up-stairs had been extremely painful for her through all the silent dinner-time that night.
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