Amid a litter of nails without heads, screws without worms, and locks without wards, lay a glue-pot and an oilstone, two articles which their owner was wont to term "his right hand and his left. “Good, I’m so glad, Lucy. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. But her temper almost flared again when the sergeant spoke. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. Her gown was minimalist compared to those concoctions of boning and lace of long ago, she reflected, but that did not stop it from getting caught on 134 brambles and twigs. ‘Perhaps I could indeed rescue you if only you would confide in me.
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