Other phrases returned now, like echoes. Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. Anna felt that her words had become charged with a fuller and more subtle meaning than any which she had intended to impart. O'Higgins made it positive; but it required five weeks of broken voyages: with dilapidated hotels, poor food, poor tobacco, and evil-smelling tramps. It wailed at Lucy, chubby arms reaching towards her, pleading. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel.
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