II. " "Won't my life do as well as his?" supplicated the other. ” She stopped buttoning her glove, and looked at him. “Lucy Albert, sir. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell.
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