“Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. These interests her world promptly, through the agency of schoolmistresses, older school-mates, her aunt, and a number of other responsible and authoritative people, assured her she must on no account think about. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. What is it you’re after? Money, I suppose.
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