"Yes, I think I
agree with you about that!"
"There's only one thing to do with such a person," she said
vehemently. "That's to put him out of our thoughts forever--forever!"
And yet, the next day, at six o'clock, which was the hour, Fanny had
told her, when George and his mother were to leave upon their long
journey, Lucy touched that scorched place on her mantel with her hand
just as the little clock above it struck. Then, after this odd,
unconscious gesture, she went to a window and stood between the
curtains, looking out into the cold November dusk; and in spite of
every reasoning and reasonable power within her, a pain of loneliness
struck through her heart. The dim street below her window, the dark
houses across the way, the vague air itself--all looked empty, and
cold and (most of all) uninteresting. Something more sombre than
November dusk took the colour from them and gave them that air of
desertion.
The light of her fire, flickering up behind her showed suddenly a
flying group of tiny snowflakes nearing the window-pane; and for an
instant she felt the sensation of being dragged through a snows drift
under a broken cutter, with a boy's arms about her--an arrogant,
handsome, too-conquering boy, who nevertheless did his best to get
hurt himself, keeping her from any possible harm.
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