“I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. She got home every night in time to cook supper and it was good money. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse. "Your father—poor imbecile!—believes we ran away together. Just let him down easy, Lucy. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie.
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