Soon they came to treat Lucy almost as mother, pulling hard at her brown curls and laughing delightedly as they sprang back into their spiral shape. She went about, intentlooking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out before her. But only inside, you understand, that one cannot see it. ‘Wait! No time for that. Then, as she was in the act of turning reluctantly away, she noticed a thin crack between the door and the frame. "Your faults were the faults of circumstances. It was better even than the hymn-singing.
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