"He is," returned Quilt, significantly. A florid-looking young woman rose up and accosted him eagerly. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. The noise of a bolt came to Alderley’s ears. She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village.
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