Wild," observed Austin, as he put on his coat, and adjusted his minor bob. Submission to the inevitable carried her through the circumstances of her appearance before the magistrate. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. Some indeed carried themselves, dressed themselves even, rather as foreign visitors from the land of “Looking Backward” and “News from Nowhere” than as the indigenous Londoners they were. “What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia.
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