But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. “Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. How could she tell him what indeed already began to puzzle herself, why she had borrowed that money at all? The plain fact was that she had grabbed a bait. Jackson, to the swig. Come, come, be reasonable, and listen to me. “I don’t want children, Lucy.
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