“It’s—it’s a difficult question. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. This won’t do. She despises me, I suppose. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. As he hesitated, unable to make up his mind what to do for the best, a heavy rumbling on the cobbles penetrated his absorption. It was Martin, she could hear his heart beat. Did you realize?\" Lucy's mouth twisted into a half-smile that she could not help.
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