She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. The owner of this dress had a broad weather-beaten face, small twinkling eyes, and a bushy, grizzled beard. Their momentary absence seemed to have worked wonders; for now the most perfect understanding appeared to subsist between them. And she had not dressed herself in this habit of a blue so much like the sky just for his sake, no matter that Lucy had said how much this colour suited with her eyes. ToC The day appointed for the execution was now close at hand, and the prisoner, who seemed to have abandoned all hopes of escape, turned his thoughts entirely from worldly considerations. Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane.
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