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In the retrospect she was amazed to think how things had gone to pieces, for at the outset she had been quite prepared to go home again upon terms. I saw her face and it was the face that had been hidden from me in dreams, a face very much like yours, Lucia. I have only just left Wych Street. Somebody tricked you back yonder—baited you for spite. We have lived under the same roof, but our ways seem to have lain wide apart. “She must,” said Mr. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. .
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