He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. Very quietly, he added, “Oh Lucia, I’m sorry. "It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil. A tarnish of constraint that had recently spread over her intercourse with Capes vanished again. That’s probably true. “You and Anna,” she said, “seem to have stumbled upon a mare’s nest.
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