Do you think I would marry you? Rather would I marry the pig in the convent. Why aren’t you folded up clean in lavender—as every young woman ought to be? What have you been doing with yourself?. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. It seemed to make her sister downcast beyond any precedent. They are things faint and slight in themselves, as physical facts, but they are like the detonator of a bomb: they let loose the explosive. "Won't you take these?" For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she were real. ’ Still no response. Indeed, it seemed inevitable that she must clear it up with his assistance, or not at all.
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