“Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. There, in a little tea and sweetstuff shop, she bought and consumed slowly and absent-mindedly the insufficient nourishment that is natural to her sex on such occasions. Thus, all her interest in life began to centre upon the patient, who was apparently quite as anchorless as she was. Indignation carried her through that night, that men and the world could so entreat her. CHAPTER XIX.
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