We had such a pride in you, such hope in you. ” Lucy begged. “The Widgetts,” she said. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. ‘Take this. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. "How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. "We've heard coming and going. I’ve been waiting a long time for you.
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