C. I will be very well without him. “Don’t you get it, Lucy? I’ve always thought he was an idiot. The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and are illuminated. I didn’t ought to have sent for him. See paragraph 1. “What did it matter?” she cried.
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