’ ‘And if she can’t?’ asked Lucy. The guineas are not for serving your mistress. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. Suddenly he stopped short.
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