“Shit!” John quickly countered, “What are you going to do? She’s a motor-mouth, Lucy, of the worst kind. We meant to make it dinner and a theatre, but you were not home. I must bless him before I die. It was fortunate that by this time Winifred had so far recovered, as to be able to afford her father the best and only solace that, under the circumstances, he could have received,—her personal attentions.
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