277 “I was beginning to think that I would never see you again, Lucy. If it was not an actual personal lover, it still might be the lover not yet incarnate, not yet perhaps suspected. ” She looked down at the flowers, still in shock, and gently laid them over her arm like a Miss America candidate practicing a crowning ceremony at a pajama party. I found a blue stone on the beach once. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. But the big job for you is yet to come.
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