She stood there with white set face and nervously clenched fingers. Lucy sat in the back seat as the trio sped through intersections in the old sedan. When she spoke, her lips twitched. "Swear that you will do this," she cried. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. Take your pick, Mrs. It isn't as if he were stricken with typhoid or pneumonia or something like that.
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