" "Oh! let me die," groaned the widow. He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. “Not to-night,” she said. After all, life had still its pulsations. He wanted to become a millionaire. ‘And me, I am a lady.
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