” John said to Lucy. She could not help but admit that she liked being smiled at and addressed in the hallways by hordes of friendly faces. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. God bless you, Auntie! I'll go into the mills and make pulp with my bare hands, if you want me to. That shining slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! Even when we are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the tune when we cared nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when we risked everything for one another, when all the wrappings and coverings seemed to have fallen from life and left it light and fire. “Don’t be too sure of that,” she answered enigmatically.
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