Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. He may die. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. As the body was borne to the house in the arms of the farming-men, Mr. A door in this house opened upon the yard.
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