Lucy slipped upstairs silently. “I’m not that beautiful. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. She looked down at him and saw that the sunlight was gleaming from his cheeks, and that all over his cheeks was a fine golden down of delicate hairs. Covered with houses, from one end to the other, this reverend and picturesque structure presented the appearance of a street across the Thames.
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