Left alone, Jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs. “You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. Stanley decided to treat that as irrelevant. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. Lucy acted the part of savoring the end of the meal, but it was difficult. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. “You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. \" She replied to him, looking into his blue eyes.
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