We felt like thieves. But if his frame was immature, his looks were not so. Lucy thought he was the most handsome man in the entire world. On the bench was set a quartern measure of gin, a crust of bread, and a slice of cheese. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. "That is very kind of you, but I am on my way to America.
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