Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. \"Lucy?\" He called her as she turned. She colored faintly. A very familiar face emerged from a crowd at the impromptu bar on the kitchen island. When I heard about Larry I was going 159 to call you, I was, but, well, there is no excuse, is there? I acted like I was afraid of you, afraid that I liked you, so I ignored you like a coward. “How unkind!” she exclaimed. Easily I could have killed you. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect.
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