Her eyes were wide open with amazement. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. Marvel, who was now quite dissolved in tears, "I shall never survive this scene. I had consecrated my life to His Work; and I took the primrose path. If there were any pearls, none came into the light. Suppose—suppose a girl did want to start in life, start in life for herself—” She looked him frankly in the eyes. Anything that had love in it! The doctor comprehended that he also had his work cut out. Lucy didn’t seem like a teenage girl at all to Sheila and she knew it. “I wonder if it is. He had never wanted daughters. She had money of her own—much more than I have—and there was no need to squabble about that. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations.
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