‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. ’ She turned quickly away that her feelings might not be obvious to Lucy and her great-aunt. “I had to. Finally Lucy replied. That was an admission all right. To O'Higgins—for all his sordid business he was not insensible to beauty—to O'Higgins she appeared to have entered the room with the light.
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