Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. She looked around her. Surely it was a dream. He entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head. Thames Darrell.
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