Lucy treaded down two steps, stunned. She went to the table under the end window at which she had been accustomed to work, and found it swept and garnished with full bottles of re-agents. Lucy felt the hairs on her neck rise. “No one asks you to care for them. I haven’t, anyhow. Lucy clutched the pencil in defeat. But this might be merely a figurative mode of describing his customary vigilance. But if only you will come I do not care.
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