Jack, who had been lingering near the group, now walked on. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. Lucy tried not to make her cringe noticeable. At times he was brilliant and masterful, talked round and over every one, and would have been domineering if he had not been extraordinarily kindly; at times he was almost monosyllabic, and defeated Miss Garvice’s most skilful attempts to draw him out. Lucy stood in front of the piano. .
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