” His voice sounded muffled and heavy, as if he had gone to bed. ” Lucy observed, watching her friend. " "I don't mind the throuble," hesitated Terence, who was really a good-hearted fellow at the bottom; "and I'd like to sarve you if I could, for you look like a gentleman's son, and that goes a great way wi' me. You tell me he didn't like the stuff. I had to go at a moment’s notice. Had she said the words aloud? He pulled her close and she nuzzled her head on his chest. He was a little impressed by Ann Veronica’s metaphor of the string, which, indeed, she owed to Hetty Widgett. It was supposed he was drowned in crossing the river, as his body had never been found. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true.
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