Lucy pinned her hair off her neck and hoped it would make her to look decidedly older. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. "If you touch me I will kill you," said Ruth, grasping the scissors which lay beside the pencils—Hoddy's! The Wastrel laughed, still advancing. And now, when you come at last, you bring me this grandfather, and you dare to tell me I am like him.
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