” Lucy would always press her face into her mother’s skirts when she heard the ending, no matter how many times she heard it. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. Upstairs, in the little dressing-room, the panel was opened by means of tugging a small candlesconce in the wall. She lifted the sheet and gestured for him to join her.
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