“What is going on between you two?” Lucy asked. "Married!—no—no," replied the woollen-draper. She meditated long and carefully upon her letter to her father before she wrote it, and gravely and deliberately again before she despatched it. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. You simply can't get good oil down there, so I must husband the few drams I carry.
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