He stirred continually, thrusting his legs about and flinging his arms above his head. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. '" "Let me see," cried Jack, snatching the paper, and eagerly perusing the advertisement.
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