\" Lucy noticed Michelle's heavy pile of books, some of which were from the school library. She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements. But there was no sign from her. She was so interested, and this was such a relief from the trudging anxiety of her search for work, that she went on for a whole week as if she was still living at home. Behind the illustrious personages just described marched a troop of stalwart fellows, with white badges in their hats, quarterstaves, oaken cudgels, and links in their hands. That poor child, trying to escape, and not knowing how. She limited herself to eating once a fortnight, until she discovered that she could go without comfortably for a month. 1. All who lived there aspired to be something greater, all who lived there had hope, even the slaves! Oh, Lucia, if you could have seen the Parthenon, or attended the plays at the Athaneum, you would know why I loved it there. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. ’ She turned quickly away that her feelings might not be obvious to Lucy and her great-aunt.
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