As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. Annabel seated herself in an easy chair and determined to wait for her sister’s return. But Gerald kept to a casual note. ‘But of course. It generalized everything she put to it. The mother, Cathy Beck, was as patient and as charitable of an individual that Lucy had ever known, a big kindly Polish-American woman with the heart of an angel. They had refused. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. “Solitary walks?” “That’s the point of them.
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