Lucy stared out to the busy streets beyond. Girls erupted in waves of whispering as soon as she passed them by. She had learned this art in skirts, and knew well how not to be disadvantaged. With a view to raise recruits for his corps, the warlike woollen-draper started for Lancashire, under the colour of a journey on business. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. It was the last thing she felt like drinking.
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