A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. " "Pray do so, Madam," retorted Mrs. Jonathan laughed scornfully. " Mrs. Lucy sat beside him. Even Blueskin looked on with anxiety. The day is already half over. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. He would come swiftly to her aid, she knew it. “It’s bound to be all right,” she said. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. It presented itself in the likeness of a great, gray, dull world—a brutal, superstitious, confused, and wrong-headed world, that hurt people and limited people unaccountably. “That is as you will,” she said. ” Lucy sat patiently as she was improved.
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