What you’re after is too risky. " "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. She watched the people and hummed softly to herself. "Beg pardon, Sir Rowland," said the attendant, "but there's a boy from Mr. A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars.
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