Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. ” She said. Your life is like a funeral March. She got up, put the neat cuffs she had made into her work-basket, and went to the bureau for the little cards in the morocco case. “Lucy, are you feeling all right?” He asked concernedly. Darrell, however, rose again instantly; and though mortally wounded, made a desperate effort to regain the boat. Groping their way through one or two dark and mouldy-smelling vaults, the party ascended a flight of steps, which brought them to the hall.
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