” Lucy spoke up, “We used to call that ‘playing the coquette’. But give me till to-morrow—only till to-morrow—I may be able to part with him then. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation.
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