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But I don’t suppose you can understand. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. “No, Lucy, because Satan does not exist. Here was a terrific figure gnashing his teeth, and howling like a wild beast;—there a lover, with hands clasped together and eyes turned passionately upward. Poor little one. “Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink.
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