1. Lucy felt her eyes misting up, turning traitor. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. "Do you realize that you are several kinds of a damned scoundrel?" he began. Luckily, she was bereft of consciousness, and was thus spared the additional misery of witnessing what afterwards befell him. "Quilt Arnold, is that you?" "It is, Sir," sputtered the janizary.
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