Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. Lucy found solace in the lack of sunshine, but the November cold was over the top, even for Illinois. "Your father—poor imbecile!—believes we ran away together. It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. I would not think so of you, Marthe. “We can,” he said, “and we will. "I'm afraid we'll have to dig into his trunk," he said.
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