‘Ha! It’s you, is it?’ He threw a glance at his two juniors. She could not say a word, much less move. “Shot through the lungs,” he remarked. When he beheld Jack he uttered a deep groan. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. Lucy found solace in the lack of sunshine, but the November cold was over the top, even for Illinois. In doing so, he had to clamber up the immense heap of bricks and rubbish which now littered the floor, amounting almost to a car-load, and reaching up nearly to the top of the chimney-piece. She remembered that she had not gone to bed until two o'clock in the morning.
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