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"Yep; she's cannin' thimble-berries. Jest wait till I get an armful of kindlin', an' I'll go in with you." So, then, as she sat at table she almost looked the same beautiful Lucy Acton who had left her house early one morning for[Pg 369] a walk in which she had met the hunchback Paul and read a letter he gave her. The old rich colour was indeed lacking; no charm of hat, no grace of coiffure, no elegance of costume could immediately qualify or dispel the languor of fatigue in the eyes, the delicate shadow pencilled by worry and an enormous mental strain under the eyes, and a general expression in movements of silence or repose, of anxiety, pain, and another quality which you might have seen was present without being able to give it a name. "I suppose that is Lord Garlies whom he is addressing," exclaimed Captain Acton, on the arrival of the lieutenant at his ship..
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"Hard, I should say so! I'll bet either one of 'em 'ud murder a hull family fer ten cents. Say, Bill, maybe they're pirates; you heard what they said about a boat, didn't you?" "You'd be taken all care of, ma'am." "Good night," he echoed. He paused to survey the rows of uplifted faces and let his words sink home. Then lifting a long hickory pointer from his desk, and holding it much as a conjuror might hold his wand, he gripped the edge of the desk with one bony hand and leaning forward, said:.
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