Lucy felt her heart splinter in her breast. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. ’ The lady’s gaze dwelled thoughtfully on the half-drawn sword and then came up to meet his, an odd look in her eyes. She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. "Mother—dear mother!" said Jack, bursting into tears.
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