“The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. “Who the hell are you, Lucy?” “Promise me you will never tell anyone. The hurricane had now reached its climax. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out.
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