You do not wish to marry me at all, that is seen. But he wrote on. “I just wanted you to see that the time will come when I must leave you, and the time is coming soon. Lucy looked at her reflection with a measure of awe. Her tone should have warned him, but he was too much in earnest to regard it. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. She was a woman now to the tips of her fingers; she had said good-bye to her girlhood in the old garden four years and a quarter ago.
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