“Let me see,” she said to herself, trying to control a slight sinking of the heart, “I am going to take a room in a lodging-house because that is cheaper. And look down, so. It was Blueskin. His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. The mother, Cathy Beck, was as patient and as charitable of an individual that Lucy had ever known, a big kindly Polish-American woman with the heart of an angel. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. Martin proceeded to grab Lucy by the shoulders and air-kiss both of her cheeks teasingly. The more her thoughts dwelt upon the subject, the more convinced she was that she could not go to any one for help; she would have to solve the riddle by her own efforts, by some future experience. "Ah!" cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of satisfaction.
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