Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. " "We may believe as much of that as we please, I suppose," observed the carpenter's wife, with a sneer. "Can't!" repeated his mother. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. Lucy savored the normalcy of the scene.
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