Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. As she approached, the carpenter's wife eyed her from head to foot, in the hope of finding something in her person or apparel to quarrel with. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. Ruth had lived in a world without caresses. He felt no pain from this cowardly kick.
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