Lucy inhaled deeply. 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. Kneebone and his friends would be glad of a little refreshment. Perhaps she had found this new thing in life, the thing wonderful. "I leave this bowl for you," he cried, returning it to the landlord untasted. It’s well hidden, miss. We have to get them to let us in for the profits of their business, and in return we ask them to—dinner. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. “What do you want to go out here for, Lucy?” He 217 asked.
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