If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. She was sore with the perplexities of her preposterous position. She looked upon it with pity as she drank his diabetic blood and saw that several of his fingers were missing.
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