Good night. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. Ramage,” she cried, “you are outrageous! You understand nothing. 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. Groans and hoots were now raised by the crowd, and there was an evident disposition to rescue.
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