“Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. " "Anything else, Sir?" "No:—stay! you'd better not bring up any silver forks or spoons. “Are you in the Service?” She asked him. " "I don't know," said the doctor, dubiously. “I won’t have you quarrelling and crying in the Avenue,” he said. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint.
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