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Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. “Was he really?” She asked, waiting on baited breath. If ever she felt fatigue in these long tramps which had already taken her half over London, she never admitted it. ” She pointed with shaking fingers to a great bunch of dark red carnations, thrust carelessly into a deep china bowl, to which the card was still attached. ” TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Typesetting and editing of the original book from which this e-text has been transcribed was inconsistent. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. After the dance, they went to a party. Kneebone's house, the young man hastened to a hotel in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, where, having procured a horse, he shaped his course towards the west end of the town. “Of course,” she said diffidently, “this is a boarding-house, although we never take in promiscuous travellers. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. Her hair was gathered up behind, in a sort of pad, according to the then prevailing mode; and she wore a muslin cap, and pinners with crow-foot edging.
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