‘I beg your pardon?’ said Gerald. He spoke in quick nervous sentences. She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. His looks were fixed on his old benefactor. They are our food, Lucia, nothing more. "It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets.
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