Mary Lucia was branded “the earliest riser and the best at keeping up with her chores” by the formidable Sisters at the orphanage. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. I’ve never seen her quite so sure of herself. “Yes,” she said, “that is what we ought to do. Then she reverted to the trousers. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. As the wedding neared, she bought some finer things: a veal roast for supper, a single pearl for the dowry. "Here he is, waterman," exclaimed the benevolent carpenter.
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