Lucy could see the resemblance of Martin to both of his parents as plain as day. “Dear me! I wonder where Sir John picked her up. She went to her own table and sat down. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needless cruelty to give her a push toward it. She missed them already. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way.
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