“Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. Believe me, Anna. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. It was among artistic people. That's worth something to me; for I don't mind paying for revenge. Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. But they did what they could for her. Sir John filled his glass with trembling hand. ’ Martha got up with a swish of her black habit. But let that verse tell my secret. Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks.
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