“She”, you say. A dozen books lay upon the counterpane. I swore to hang you two years ago, but I deferred my purpose. Then a ride to London on horseback. So many things she saw that her interest stumbled rather than leaped from object to object. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. ‘She didn’t behave in the least like an émigré, if these people are anything to go by. All who lived there aspired to be something greater, all who lived there had hope, even the slaves! Oh, Lucia, if you could have seen the Parthenon, or attended the plays at the Athaneum, you would know why I loved it there. Then she dropped the curtain and stepped back into the room. "Poor thing!" muttered he, as the widow departed on her errand, "she's seen better days and better circumstances than she'll ever see again, I'm sure.
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