At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. Yet here you are, and at precisely the right moment, too. Then Mr. Stay! I'll go myself. She cried as he watched, frozen to the ground. Most unsatisfactory. I have nothing, nothing that can possibly be passion for you. As he looked up at the massive tower, the clock tolled forth the hour of midnight. He did not like it.
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