“Just forget it, Lucy! Keep your secrets to yourself!” He stomped out, slamming the heavily paneled oak door. “Was it really only this afternoon that I met you in St. F. There has never been a white woman at McClintock's. It got on my nerves—the women I saw. I offered myself as a clerk, as a milliner, as a shop girl. With his chisel so fine, tra la! "There!" cried the boy, leaping from the stool, and drawing back a few paces on the bench to examine his performance,—"that'll do.
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