The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. “Have you told anybody else?” Lucy asked. It gave her great satisfaction to hear that Madame Chamberlain had spent a night in the county jail, even if the nocturnal activities picked right up again after two weeks. She had never expected John capable of saying such things, of thinking such macabre ideas. It stunned her. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves.
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