\"What's that?\" Lucy asked. Anna went out. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. Friday was not a big dinner night at the Beck house. Wood," she continued, with a sudden change of tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's arm, "promise it me. ’ Lucy was silent for a space, once again wearing that inscrutable expression. You'll never be guided by me—never!" "Indeed, my love, you're entirely mistaken," returned the carpenter, endeavouring to deprecate his wife's rising resentment by the softest looks, and the meekest deportment. Lucy looked at her with a small measure of pity. Some of your sex, I mean. She handled it half fearfully, and set it carefully down again.
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