She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies. “Ruin me? For what? Posterity? How could you ruin me, Lucy? What on earth are you talking about?” He got up and began to pace the room. She had resisted as long as she could; then she had stolen over. It’s odd, but nothing but cliche seems to meet this case. Retribution has a queer way of acting sometimes.
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