Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. “Mr. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. " "Your own was equally so," said Jackson ironically. " "As many as you please," replied Wood, walking towards the chimney-piece, and taking down a constable's, staff, which hung upon a nail. Pure romantic nonsense on her part.
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