Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. But—if you are a friend of Mr. ‘That there governess didn’t like it, of course, me being the lodgekeeper’s girl, and Martha just a country wench like me. "I leave this bowl for you," he cried, returning it to the landlord untasted. No doubt— because he did not understand you—he thought you had run away with someone.
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