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Several people in Greyridge had said they would employ her. And, all the time, during the night hours when she was thus wrestling down her heart, Manisty was often pacing the forest paths, in an orgie of smoke and misery, cursing the incidents of the day, raging, doubting, suffering as no woman had yet made him suffer. The more truly he despaired, the more he desired her.
All she knew was that nobody ever took it so in Greyridge, Vermont, unless they were on the point of death. 'I should never be any good, any more, she said, with an energy that brought the red back to her cheeks, 'if they were to spoil me at home, as you spoil me here. Eleanor waved her hand, smiled, and went her way.
Lucy touched her hand with timid gratitude. 'I don't know what's happened to me, she said, half wistful, half smiling; 'I never stayed in bed to breakfast in my life before. At Greyridge, they'd think I had gone out of my mind. Eleanor inquired if it was an invariable sign of lunacy in America to take your breakfast in bed. Lucy couldn't say.
And out of mere reaction from her weeks of anguish, she believed him, she hoped again. Then he turned to speculate on the voyage to America he must now make, on his first interviews with Greyridge and Uncle Ben. 'Shall I make a good impression? How shall I be received? I am certain you gave your uncle the worst accounts of me.
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