Strewn across the bed was a multitude of jumbled garments. Lucy's ears were singing. "Thank Heaven! I'm not basely born. "Not proud in the least, I declare. CHAPTER XIV Ruth lost the point entirely. Piercing through every crevice in the clothes, it, in some cases, tore them from the wearer's limbs, or from his grasp. If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. She had reason enough to be grateful to Prudence Sindlesham and it was not fair that this horrible feeling of loneliness should be made known to her.
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