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her an hour after. His fine face looked worried and discontented, and
he flung himself beside her, saying gloomily,--

"How on earth I am to live here, Lucy Hurst, I don't know."

"What is it, Tom?" inquired she, forgetting her own troubles in
sympathy for him.

"Oh, Uncle Josh, that's all. He hasn't any patience with me, and
makes me speak up impertinently to him. And the things they say about


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