Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her. For a long time she surveyed a row of towering holly-hocks, as though they offered an explanation. Glancing at the finger-post over the cage, which has been described as situated at the outskirts of the village, and seeing no directions to Dollis Hill, he made fresh inquiries as to where it lay, from an elderly man, who was standing with another countryman near the little prison. “No, Lucy, it isn’t fine and I am sorry. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. The militiaman at once thrust the old man between the shoulder blades, pushing him into the kitchen.
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