Lucy sat in back of Jane Lenihan, who never spoke to her. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. Wood—and after him came his daughter. ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play.
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