Her hair touched water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness. “I don’t think she will,” she said. As the wedding neared, she bought some finer things: a veal roast for supper, a single pearl for the dowry. "Where to, master?" asked Ben, touching his woollen cap. Lucy inhaled deeply. A doubt as to your dinner to-morrow would make you miserable to-night.
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