A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. ” As Lucy got up to fetch Michelle a box of tissue, her mind spun wildly. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. " "I wish you hadn't mentioned her," said Jack, in a broken voice, while his whole frame shook with emotion. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. Hang the wench! Roding was right. .
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