You are—horrible. Don't build your hopes too high; but I will do what I can. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. She was supposed to be reading at home, and after breakfast she strolled into the vegetable garden, and having taken up a position upon the staging of a disused greenhouse that had the double advantage of being hidden from the windows of the house and secure from the sudden appearance of any one, she resumed the reading of Mr. “There is no remedy, girls,” she began, breathlessly, “except the Vote. Her face scarcely reflected his enthusiasm.
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