I must apologize, I suppose, for speaking to you, but your appearance certainly indicated that you were in some sort of trouble, and you were becoming—pardon me—an object of comment to the passers-by. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. Well, I'd no idea," she continued, pursuing her ruminations as she left the room, "that people of quality laughed so. And then, there would be the question of money. A thousand eager assistants pressed behind him. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. Only sat, staring at him, a puzzled look in her face.
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