"I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. You’re all dependents—all of you. Well, my friend found us out, and would give no quarter. The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow. Soup would help you feel better, soup and hot tea. \" Lucy winced. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. One has to be so careful.
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