At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. Then came the shock of the knowledge that soon he would be going upon his way, that there would be no one to depend upon her; and all the old loneliness came smothering down upon her again. "I am sorry. I don’t think of you as a kid.
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