“Lucy, my brother is home and I borrowed the cash from him. " "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. . God had never answered any of her prayers. Figg! In a few minutes, all will be over. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. She recognized the face but could not quite place it.
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