Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. Lucy did not move, but instead stared straight forward, her eyes focused on the desk where the presiding teacher on duty was supposed to be. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. This queer father of hers had given her everything but his arms. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off.
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