The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor. “I don’t think you see,” she replied, with tears on her cheeks, and her brows knitting, “how it shames and, ah!—disgraces me—AH TISHU!” She put down the tray with a concussion on her toilet-table. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time. She—She can snub him. So, then, fifty gold was considerable; it would carry Ah Cum across four comparatively idle months. He came to the door and as he opened it a crack, she pushed herself inside urgently.
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