Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. ‘I know,’ said Prudence Sindlesham, sympathy in her tone. "How?" cried her brother, starting. I want to get away—to go to London.
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