It would be the culmination of her plan. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. By this action, Lucy already knew what the answer was. "What have you got there in your breast—a stone? Is there blood or water in your veins?" The dam broke, but not with violence. That is what I don't understand. It had showed up at an auction at Sotheby’s after someone had sold it. He had absorbed her in a single glance, and was now defining her as he worked. She got a bun and some cocoa in the little refreshment-room, and then wandered through the galleries up-stairs, crowded with Polynesian idols and Polynesian dancinggarments, and all the simple immodest accessories to life in Polynesia, to a seat among the mummies.
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