She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. "I am quite easy now; receive my blessing, my dear son; and if we never meet again, rest assured my last prayer shall be for you. Wait a little; rest. ‘You are extremely empty-headed, Lucy.
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