“Nor am I now,” he answered. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. He bowed over her hand, venturing to drop a kiss on it’s leathery surface. Wild in his own domain. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him.
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