Lucy aimed the firearm at Rhea’s chest. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. He was silent. Then, quite insensibly, her queenliness had declined. "Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother.
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