"All's bowman, my covey. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. Her father was distinctly irascible, and disposed more than ever to hide away among the petrological things—the study was turned out. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support.
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