Lucy vomited onto the floor at the sight of her mother dying, the black spots expanding across her corpse. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. Spare me yet a little while, Father! not for my own sake, but for the sake of this poor babe. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain.
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