\" She said. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. “How are you, Lucy?” Martin ran to catch her in the crowded hall. I didn’t ought to have sent for him.
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