‘You are wise, Marthe. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. . “I thought much of it amazingly beautiful. “What were you trying to do?” Lucy asked. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. “Flesh and flowers are all alike to me.
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