A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. ‘Do you tell me that my disreputable son had the infernal insolence to pass you off as that whoring Frenchwoman’s daughter?’ His answer was in their faces. Lucy stared out to the busy streets beyond. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath.
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