Gradually McClintock shifted the burden to Spurlock's shoulders and retired among his books and music rolls. She pulled the door so that it was not quite to, and held out her hand, palm up. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. Lucy's grin faded. I thought one had only to take it by the throat.
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