For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. "Oh! never mind him: he'll take no harm! Come with me into the parlour. “My dear sweet Lucia. ‘I’ll send one of my men to see you here this very evening.
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