So often as she had herself manipulated a dagger, she could not mistake the shape that pressured across her chest, or the sharp point that dug below her bosom. Lucy arranged her hair as Michelle had taught her instead of combing it out. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. "From Mr. Loose the wherry, and stand to your oars—quick—quick!" These commands were promptly obeyed. Expiation.
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