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Lucy had just began to invoke a solace where John was concerned, doing her best to shelve him as not so special after all. 1. I really cannot have anything to do with Mr. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. “Ask me nothing.
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