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As usual, Lucy traced over parts of her experiences in her confidences with Shari, skipping lightly over her own 10 story as a pebble would over a lake. You were accused of having been seen with the latter. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. ’ ‘Oh, a ruin,’ exclaimed Mrs Sindlesham, throwing up a hand. Wood heard the cry. Lucy? Come 177 on out. She was certain he would hear, sleeping in the nearby castle.
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