“Of course I will,” he answered. A beachcomber in embryo, and she had lent a hand through habit as much as through pity. Wood, who had merely absented himself to see that a public breakfast, which he had ordered at the Six Bells for all who chose to partake of it, was in readiness. “Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. It is I who took the burden of your misdeeds upon my shoulders that you might become Lady Ferringhall.
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