She pulled him towards the bed. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. He'll be brought out at this door, and may probably make some resistance. Lucy saw it happen as if in slow motion. She could run away from him, if she wished, as she had run away from her father; she could carry out the original adventure. The man who staggers, whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually. When the bell rang, she lagged behind as was her habit.
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