"Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. Even if you were sick in the mind and did not understand what you were doing, it's a mighty cruel thing you have done. Small blame to her. He glanced at his watch. ’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. There would be no moon.
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