" "Can I trust him?" mused Jack. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. Again returning to the main road, he passed through Clapton; and turning off on the left, arrived at the foot of Stamford Hill. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course.
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