"spartan girl! proud lucy!" she would say, smiling at me. "graham says you are the most peculiar, capricious little woman he knows; but yet you are excellent; we both think so.''
"you both think you know not what," said i. "have the goodness to make me as little the subject of your mutual talk and thoughts as possible. i have my sort of life apart from yours.''
"but ours, lucy, is a beautiful life, or it will be; and you shall share it."
''i shall share no man's or woman's life in this world, as you understand sharing. i think i have one friend of my own, but am not sure, and till i am sure, i live solitary.''
"but solitude is sadness.''
"yes, it is sadness. life, however, has worse than that. deeper than melancholy; lies heartbreak.''
"lucy, i wonder if anyone will ever comprehend you altogether."
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