Lucy's ears were singing. She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness. Lucy snatched it up and put it in her pack. She was radiant. She was frightfully hungry. “And yet you still live, Butterfly. “I don’t think our engagement can go on,” she plunged, and felt exactly that loss of breath that comes with a dive into icy water. It isn't your duty.
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