Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. At last, she breathed. Lucy looked about confusedly. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle. One wants helpers and protectors—and clean water. Wait, though. Now he would take her away from the house before killing her, and no one would find her body at all. Sir John stood upon the threshold.
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