But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil. ‘Madame, I trust I see you well?’ ‘Merci. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. ” “John, do you remember me at all?” “Lucy?!” He cried in disbelief. It was the blouse that gave Lucy away.
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