The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. "Attend to me, Mrs. "Let me look at the paper. ” “You will have no objection to his remaining here?” he asked.
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