” She said, studying his face, which seemed to lose its childishness a little more with each day. You are different, Lucia, undamaged even after what you have been through, still pure of heart. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. Wood's anxiety grew so insupportable, that he seized his hat with the intention of sallying forth in search of them, though he did not know whither to bend his steps, when his departure was arrested by a gentle knock at the door. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. Spurlock's vision was oddly of the past. "From Mr.
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