” Lucy replied. Above the housetops it was different. She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears. She covered herself with her arms. It had not tasted good since 1350. Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her. CHAPTER XXXI.
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