Do you think that I am utterly selfish?” She raised her eyebrows. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. "Come with me, my love, come—come," cried his mother, seizing his hand, and endeavouring to force him away. A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued. For a moment she remained silent. ’ ‘And you believe her?’ asked Lucilla, raising her brows. "Look at it!" he felt like screaming.
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