‘Grace à dieu, he breathes still. “Please forgive me, Lucy. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. ” He put his head on one side, pulled down the corners of his mouth, and looked at her over his glasses. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. Their conversation hung.
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