CHAPTER XIII. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. The palanquin is hired and so is the procession. Lucy's ears were singing. " "You mustn't think of that, Mrs. “Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness. Good riddance. ‘Espèce de bête,’ she snarled. ‘I wonder why the females of my acquaintance have absolutely no respect whatsoever for male authority?’ ‘Ha!’ came from Hilary.
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