Sir Rowland witnessed these proceedings like one stupified. “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. I did not even know where to write and thank you. Before he could return, Jack had made good his retreat; and, wandering about the lanes and hedges, kept out of sight as much as possible. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid. Well, after all, he seemed to be turning the subject.
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