“My dear sweet Lucia. Fortescue raised his eyebrows and assumed a light-comedy expression. Small wonder she had learned to be self-reliant. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot. As Wood obeyed, his foot slipped; and, casting his eyes upon the floor, he perceived it splashed in several places with blood. ” “I will think of it,” she promised.
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