Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. “None, I thank you,” he answered. All at once they came to the top, the faded blue sky overhead, and whichever way he looked, the horizon, the great rocking circle which hemmed them in. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. And now her mind was so full of the thought that she was in love—in love!—that marvellous state! that I really believe she had some dim idea of talking to him about it.
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