She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered. She had but to choose. Just what in the world was that about? Before he could hazard a guess, Lucy looked back at him. " "And you want me to find a minister?" she asked, with ready comprehension. Her eye met Miss Stanley’s understandingly, and she was if anything a trifle more affectionate in her greeting to Ann Veronica.
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