“Yes,” she said at last, “it is firm and affectionate. He’s terrible!” “Dad!” Lucy smiled at John. They bickered frequently now as Gianfrancesco protested the prices of things like funeral candles and poultices to comfort the dying. “I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered. CHAPTER XXII. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat.
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