She trembled; but she did not know why. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. "Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. Lucy was charmed; how peaceful the baby looked. On the stranger's appearance, she was seated near the window busily occupied with her needle. And that’s why I’m at your service.
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