And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. Lucy's grin faded. She did her best to do this. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. I am apparently a beast, a pig and an imbecile, too, if memory serves me. “I want a vote for myself,” she said. It melted her heart. "What!" she exclaimed, almost choked with passion,—"I advised you to burthen yourself with that idle and good-for-nothing pauper, who'm you ought rather to send to the workhouse than maintain at your own expense, did I! I advised you to take him as an apprentice; and, so far from getting the regular fee with him, to give him a salary? I advised you to feed him, and clothe him, and treat him like his betters; to put up with his insolence, and wink at his faults? I counselled all this, I suppose. Norris. " "Mr. " "Six," he corrected. John knew everybody, it seemed.
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