"A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice. She gave her a wink when John had turned to ask Mark if Lucy could ride home with them. Somehow. “I can only repeat what I said before,” she declared. "This she-devil has got hold of the sack. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay.
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