“They ought to have been lopped in the spring. He hoped he would get to see the two suitors face off over Lucy. She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. “That’s a weird name. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. She could stow away, go to a place where there were no people to eat and end her life.
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