“Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. She pulled him down by his lapels and arched her head readily towards his neck. They are arbitrary and unjust and dogmatic and brutish and lustful. His own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding.
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