In his condition the boy apparently had been as safe as in the lock-up. Wood scarcely knew where he was. Gerald realised Lucy had taken the hint, for she dragged her betrothed towards the door. 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. “But, my dear!” said Ann Veronica’s aunt. If the boy was legging it alone….
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