\" It was a lie: Lucy ate one forced meal a day, supper. “You must not. If you'd read your husband's dying speech, you'd know that he laid his death at Jonathan's door,—and with reason too, as I can testify. Only she hadn’t. He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. “My dear child,” he said, “with me you need have no apprehension.
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