” Lucy would always press her face into her mother’s skirts when she heard the ending, no matter how many times she heard it. The air became hot and swollen with June humidity. “Remember,” he said, “you are not by any means a dying man now, but you’ll never pull through if you don’t husband your strength. Some shadow of reserve seemed to have crept up between them. He was a young man of about two-and-twenty, who, without having anything remarkable either in dress or appearance, was yet a noticeable person, if only for the indescribable expression of cunning pervading his countenance.
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