A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. She had a better voice than I, and the rest I suppose is only a trick. A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. . She snatched about in her mind.
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