” Lucy said, thinking of the Becks who worked around the clock just to keep a tiny house in the same neighborhood. The gardens were tidy and geometric, each avenue with a different purpose: flowers for cutting, herbs, brightly colored vegetables. Something about the girl had suggested an idea. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Lucy asked. Her eyes were soft and grave, and there was the faintest of smiles upon her resolute lips. ” Mr. God bless you, Auntie! I'll go into the mills and make pulp with my bare hands, if you want me to.
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