Next instant he had her immobilised, her hands behind her back, her chest crushed to his, the white veil slipping once again. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. Naturally it all came out then. This circumstance produced no further alteration in his demeanour except that he endeavoured to abstract himself from the surrounding scene, and bend his attention to the prayers which the ordinary was reciting. There are men in the Lowndean who laugh at him—simply laugh at him.
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