The mother, Cathy Beck, was as patient and as charitable of an individual that Lucy had ever known, a big kindly Polish-American woman with the heart of an angel. “Yeah, where the hell were you? My friends would have driven you home when I came home if I could have found you. CHAPTER XI. The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains. . "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. ” She eyed him scornfully. She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears. His mind was busy with a résumé of yesterday's unusual events.
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