Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. Soon they came to treat Lucy almost as mother, pulling hard at her brown curls and laughing delightedly as they sprang back into their spiral shape. I felt—I felt living in a masked world. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been.
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