She held out her hand frankly. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. ” Anna was not late, but her heart sank within her when she entered the drawingroom. And now," she added, glancing contemptuously at the woollen-draper, "I'll go to Jack Sheppard.
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