"What poet was that?" "Stevenson. You got to take the world as it is, and the only possible trade for a girl that isn’t sweated is to get hold of a man and make him do it for her. I have come thirteen thousand miles for this young fellow; I'm ready to go galloping thirteen thousand more. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. He was a handsome man, and Lucy could see the strong resemblance of John to him.
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