" "Wood's daughter, I suppose?" observed the other. “You’re self-taught, aren’t you, Lucy?” She looked around the table, all eyes upon her. Melusine gritted her teeth. He saw now that it was merely a boy. Until that moment, Jarvis had imagined the child to be safe in the wet-nurse’s cottage. But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors.
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