A sound sleeper, she was not roused by the creaky openings and closings of drawers as Lucy packed a single duffle bag with underwear and soap that was pilfered from a multipack of Zest in the Beck’s downstairs bathroom. “My word holds,” she said. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. One mistress enough to ruin a man,—two, the devil. She watched the people and hummed softly to herself.
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