“But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. At once divining the meaning of this ingenious device, he applied his mouth to the tube, and sucked away, while the person outside poured spirit into the bowl. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. "What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son.
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