Too much, perhaps. It would be very hard perhaps to make you understand just how I feel about it. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still. Milky sunlight spilled on the floor. “Lucy, that’s horrible. ” She shook her head. " "I wish I could, Joan," returned the carpenter, sadly. . ’ For a moment he looked daunted. “No, it was simple. "Your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper. A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones.
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