“She’s proclaimed herself queen of the school. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Lucy asked. ” Lucy commented as the mud was smoothed around the grave site. I'm not sure I'd go out with him anyway. It was a mad half-hour.
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