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. "Dawn Pearl!… come here!" She moved to the side of the bed. I’m okay. Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror.
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