Her soft brown eyes, inherited from Larry, warmed an already pretty face. Jolly hard life for a girl, getting a living. But the lady was not so easily won; and though she did not absolutely reject him, gave him very slight hopes. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. In any case, there was no doing anything on a Sunday and Brewis Charvill, his main quarry, had gone out of town unexpectedly. She hugged Lucy, who had finished eating. “Better state of mind,” she gasped. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom.
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