She gulped for air merely, for it had been difficult to breathe with his hand almost cutting off the supply to her lungs. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. He relayed many details of the location and the beautiful rivers of her home, a subject she never tired of. And at length her penultimate day in Morningside Park dawned for her. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. ‘You are extremely empty-headed, Lucy.
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