" "That likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering. She heard him come in; the light burned on. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. She had been obliged to wait all morning for the opportunity to talk to Martha, who chose always to retire to her cell for the period of recreation that preceded afternoon prayers. He could neither stifle nor deaden that. “Very,” and cracked a walnut appreciatively. ’ ‘I think you understand me very well. ’ Her flesh crept. The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition.
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