Michelle looked at Lucy's feet, still in the ugly brown loafers she had worn since last year. “I am sure that you are. Afterward, one afternoon, he hovered about her, and came and sat beside her and talked of beauty and the riddle of beauty for some time. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. She had no intention whatsoever of spending her life in a convent, but that was not his affair. He waved to her.
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