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I was happy to oblige them, I had grown sick of the heat of the south and all the miserable sun. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. “I shall not speak,” he said, “now or at any other time. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago. An unexpected vacancy, wasn’t it? Every one comes in on unexpected vacancy. Perhaps that was why Sheila began to observe Lucy, because both of them were poignantly aware of Lucy’s otherness.
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