Lucy kicked her side, then her wounded leg, dislodging her. . "Only the dog," replied the rough tones of a man. Who could say that the two weren't in collusion? When a chap like Spurlock jumped the traces, cherchez la femme, every time. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. Only think how compromising. H’m. The change will come to-day. It was not a difficult affair.
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