Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. I was being stupid. So kind, so good to me always. He seldom spoke, and drank with a persistence that was sinister. She had not gone by the name Lucy during those years but instead had called herself “Mary Lucia Iovelli”. I’d need to be out of my senses. It was a charming sight to watch the motions of her tiny fingers as she pursued her task; and though the posture she adopted was not the most favourable that might have been chosen for the display of her sylphlike figure, there was something in her attitude, and the glow of her countenance, lighted up by the mellow radiance of the setting sun falling upon her through the panes of the little dormer-window, that seemed to the youth inexpressibly beautiful. It could not go on much longer, her luck. He went in there, and he was in there for a good half hour.
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