After dessert was finished, John took Lucy for a ride in his car. A kind but hard looking female officer named Rose took her into a room and sat her down at a small wooden table. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. Somewhere in the world would be his people, perhaps his mother; and it might soften the bitterness, of the return to consciousness if he found a woman at his bedside. “Before I met you I was deluded into receiving upon friendly terms a man named Hill, who passed himself off as Meysey Hill the railway man, but who was in reality an Englishman in poor circumstances. You were only one room removed from the library, see. He was no Hoddy, but a tremendous man, with hairy arms and bearded face and drink-shattered intellect.
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