Why would your mother be so impatient?” Lucy speculated. "I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. " She opened the book which she had brought to the table. “Splendid it must be to be a composer. You complain of a condition, but you leave the correction to someone else. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village.
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