’ ‘Bravo,’ applauded Lucilla, clapping her hands. My letters are returned unopened, her maid will not even allow me across the doorstep. This time she tried to kill me with a dagger. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair.
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