“Don’t!” she begged. ” Ennison looked steadily at the cigarette which he was tapping on his forefinger. Lucy wore it every day from then on. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven.
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