C. "I'm afraid we'll have to dig into his trunk," he said. To-morrow I shall come and talk to you again—of other things. You are your own Heaven and your own Hell, Lucy. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. " "I'll tell you what. “I wouldn’t.
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