“Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. " At this juncture, two women, very smartly attired in silk hoods and cloaks, appeared at the door of the Lodge. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. The first set of occupations seemed to her to be altogether too domestic and restricted; for the latter she was dreadfully handicapped by her want of experience. "Stop thief!" clamoured the rabble behind.
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