Her aunt went out of the room with dignity and a rustle, and up-stairs to the fastness of her own room. Wild is a friend of yours, I'm sorry for what I said. "Every inch of it," replied the woollen-draper. ” Lucy wanted badly to believe her. At least for one moment, it was. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen.
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