The two girls put on shoes and started walking towards the north side of town. He bowed over her hand, venturing to drop a kiss on it’s leathery surface. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. While the girl kept the patient from dwelling upon his misfortunes, whatever these were, he himself would have to keep the girl from brooding over hers. The woollen-draper looked at his watch. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. And it’s no use thinking he’d stop her. “I am sorry for the way I acted, Lucy.
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