“What he had was altogether insufficient. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. "I wouldn't force him for the world: but if he don't tip the stivers, may I be cursed if he don't get a taste of the aqua pompaginis. "I'm your dupe no longer. Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor.
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