" Mr. \" Lucy said. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. Suddenly he came to a stop, his mouth agape. You tonic my liver and you tonic my soul. She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. The chair was torture. .
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