I’m not a lovesick boy. "How is the patient?" he asked. It was neither good nor bad. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world. ‘Hates doing the pretty.
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