"This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. ‘But this is altogether a chance of the luckiest. She kept her face downcast. ‘Anyhow, never mind that now. And Pottiswick, of course. Lucy knocked again. "It's not very likely that a babby of nine months old will save my life, if I'm to be his friend, as you seem to say, Mrs. E.
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