Her teeth were chattering so hard that she had to clench them for fear of biting off her own tongue. “You’re self-taught, aren’t you, Lucy?” She looked around the table, all eyes upon her. ‘Ha! It’s you, is it?’ He threw a glance at his two juniors. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. The strong potation he had taken, combined with fatigue and anxiety he had previously undergone, made him oversleep himself, and when he awoke it was just beginning to grow light. She licked his neck, which put him over the top. The signs of tears had all gone, but some subtle change seemed to have stolen into her face. It was apparent, and then it faded into the quality of an inevitable necessity.
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