But his words were borne away by the driving wind. Lucy went hunting on a Thursday night. Mr. “Oh, I am lonely,” she moaned. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. Now I know that you don’t live as close to the Beck house as you once pretended. "Be ruled by me," returned Thames. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven.
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