” They were in the elder Widgett girl’s bedroom; Hetty was laid up, she said, with a sprained ankle, and a miscellaneous party was gossiping away her tedium. Something changed for her. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. A beachcomber in embryo, and she had lent a hand through habit as much as through pity. . Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth.
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