“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. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. She knew she was a monster and so did they. 48 <6> THE FRIDAY NIGHT SHOW The air was chill and the sky overcast and misting. Find out what I have done or failed to do. He has no imagination, no real generosity. After encountering other dangers, and being twice, compelled to fling himself flat upon his face to avoid slipping from the wet and slimy pathway, he was at length about to emerge from the lock, when, to his inexpressible horror, he found he had lost the child! All the blood in his veins rushed to his heart, and he shook in every limb as he made this discovery. Tender with the sick, firm with the strong, fearless, with a body that had the resistance of iron, there was nothing of the hypocrite in him. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations.
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