She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. . Whatever he did, she was bound to scream. It was scarcely likely that she would have accepted his aid. This is grace I am saying! Oh! my dear! all the joy and weeping of life are mixed in me now and all the gratitude. She ignored it until it repeated itself. It was a long walk she had to undertake, even if she had endured no previous fatigue, but feeble as she was, it was almost more than she could accomplish. “Bohemianism is the least understood word ever coined. I do not care in the least. ” Shari remarked as she gestured to Lucy’s reflection in the mirror.
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