It was only some hours after that these ambiguous elements evaporated and vanished and loathing came, and she really began to be thoroughly sick and ashamed of the whole disgraceful quarrel and scuffle. “Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. Lucy slipped upstairs silently. Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. “I’ve been,” she said, “forbidden to come.
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