"Bless your soul! d'ye think I'm to be gammoned by such nonsense. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. Lucy stared at the girl for a long ten seconds, and then looked away. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it.
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