’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. “Oh! I wish,” she said, “that people thought alike about these things. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. “So, how’d it go?” Lucy sighed. This fruit was McClintock's particular pride. He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully.
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