The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. Only she sent me a message, and together we found a cottage for her to stay at. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. “Experte credo. Wood, who had recovered her good humour, quitted the room she bestowed a hearty embrace on Thames, and she told him laughingly, that she would "defer all she had to propose to him until to-morrow. Lucy felt her eyes misting up, turning traitor.
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