"Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. At least the sun would not be as bright, which was a welcome reprieve from the mercilessly bright early summer days which had invigorated every man, woman, and child in the suburbs but were wearing Lucy down into acute fatigue, along with her hunger. ‘Did you sigh and flutter your eyelashes?’ ‘Certainly I did.
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