Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. “Who the hell are you, Lucy?” “Promise me you will never tell anyone. "A bad business this, Van," observed Baptist, with a prolonged shake of the head. At present I cannot marry, I will not become bound even to any one. She stood on the mat instead, and looked down on him. “I am in love with you.
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