She jumped up at once, caught up a leather clutch containing notebooks, a fat textbook, and a chocolate-and-yellow-covered pamphlet, and leaped neatly from the carriage, only to discover that the train was slowing down and that she had to traverse the full length of the platform past it again as the result of her precipitation. An unhappy little sigh escaped her. Not MY affair. ” She knelt upon the floor of her cell and clasped her hands, and remained for a long time in silence. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. She evolved a dim image of herself cooped up in a house under the benevolent shadow of Mr. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. ” She said, rubbing Lucy’s back.
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