" "Then you will stay!" she cried, clapping her hands joyfully, "for I'm sure he won't part with you. I want to stand between you and all the force and vileness of the world. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. No! I do not even know that he cares for me. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. Lucy knocked again.
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