He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. ” She whispered to him. She spoke slowly. Like a river swollen by many currents, it gathered force from the various avenues that poured their streams into it. I’m so glad you’re not angry. “Very well,” he said. Lucy stared out to the busy streets beyond. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable.
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