Mrs. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. No one had the resources or the inclination to rebuild them. “You’re self-taught, aren’t you, Lucy?” She looked around the table, all eyes upon her. The tears were streaming down her face, her voice was thick with sobs. The teacher turned towards the blackboard to inscribe the names of Capulet and Montague. It's plain he don't understand our lingo; as, how should he? Take pattern by me;" and as he said this he strode up to the carpenter, and, slapping him on the shoulder, propounded the following questions, accompanying each interrogation with a formidable contortion of countenance.
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