” His voice sounded muffled and heavy, as if he had gone to bed. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. “Well,” she achieved at last. "I can't tell you!" she replied, blushing deeply, and clinching her little hand as tightly as possible; "it's a secret!" "I'll soon find it out, then," he returned, playfully forcing the paper from her grasp. There was something fatalistic about the letter H. “Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. Just what in the world was that about? Before he could hazard a guess, Lucy looked back at him. “You must be the Miss Pellissier of whom David has told me so much,” he said, shyly. You see, I—I am a woman worshipper.
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