“Believe what, Michelle?” Lucy asked. Part 5 The next morning she waited in the laboratory at the lunch-hour in the reasonable certainty that he would come to her. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. It is bad policy. Her father was right: Ruth must never know. “You can count upon me, Nigel,” she said. The pleasure intensified quickly, it was as much control as she dared to lose as she heard herself calling his name with all her breath.
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