"It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. ‘I’m a soldier, missie. She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. Her loneliness was consuming, Lucia. ’ ‘But I have told you I have not another dagger, even a little one. It will be his interest to do so. “You ought at once—you ought at once to have told her that.
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