Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. Upon leaning back, he commented, “You look so sad. She remembered the doctor's warning that the real battle would begin when the patient recovered consciousness. After a certain amount of manœuvring, however, he was induced to crawl around, and in a few minutes came to stop again before a tall brightly-painted house, which seemed like an oasis of colour and assertive prosperity in a long dingy row. ‘Please to sit, monsieur. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently.
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