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. As he fell, he caught at the projecting masonry. Lucy was silent. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. Listen, you. At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep. " "It's a hopeless job," grumbled Blueskin, "and harm will come of it. “You underestimate your own sickness, and the ill humors that struck you may strike again.
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