Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. “I am tired,” she said, “and I want to rest. He urged his conductors to a quicker pace to get out of sight of the distressing spectacle, and even felt relieved when he was shut out from it and the execrations of the mob by the walls of the little prison. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. She flew up from her stool and faced the door.
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