Lucy sat in back of Jane Lenihan, who never spoke to her. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. Such was his fury, that if he had not been restrained by the presence of the two turnkeys, he might perhaps have anticipated the course of justice, by laying violent hands upon his victim. I didn’t realize—I don’t see how I can get out of it now.
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