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 His burning lips kissed her, his trembling hand began to unfasten her waist.

Her head whirled as if some one had struck her. A feeling of shame seized her, as if her own brother had laid his hands upon her. She pushed him away with all her strength, so that he tottered. She sobbed aloud, as she stood before him, and for a moment closed her eyes, while to her lips rushed torrents of accusations and bitter words, not only against him, but against everybody, against all those virtuous and decent people,—but she did not speak, for fear of bursting into tears at her very first word.

She dropped her hands, and looked up at him.

He stood there, angry and stubborn, fixing his eyes upon the ground.

“The end,” Lucy whispered, more to herself than to him. “It is the end.”

“A stagey, virtuous scene! It is rather too old, too insipid,—one would not have ex-