As they careened into a parking space, Lucy clung to the upholstery so as not to be thrown against the front seats. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. Her head was downcast as she studied the museum-like exhibits of various dusts on the resilient tile flooring. And, if I'd my own way, I'd drown 'em all like a litter o' puppies. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. Then he stood up and repeated it again. ” The wonderful likeness between the two girls was never less noticeable than at that moment.
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