“Now you look happy. . \" Lucy replied meekly. Then came the javelin-men, walking four abreast, and lastly, a long line of constables, marching in the same order. “You have put all your life in my hands,” he declared. She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. His pipe hung dead in his teeth, but the smoke was dense about him. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self.
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